


"So Fetch" Omens

by IneffableAlien



Category: Good Omens (TV), Mean Girls (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Mean Girls Fusion, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/F, Fluff, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Parody, Pining, The Author Regrets Nothing, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: After sixteen years of van life with her religious hippie parents, homeschooled Azi is enrolled in public school for the first time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Cady Heron/Janis Ian, Damian Hubbard/Aaron Samuels, Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 200
Kudos: 89
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Detention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ineffable_Eden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_Eden/gifts), [AceMoppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/gifts).



> **Nobody asked for a _Mean Girls_ AU, so here it is!**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While being unfairly punished with detention for her first offense, Azi meets high school social rejects Crowley and Astor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[This fic comes with its own drinking game.](https://the-lit-and-accurate-burn-book.tumblr.com/post/615583163852488704/how-to-get-drunk-while-reading-my-latest-au-so) **

“Peace be with you!”

“Talk to me again and I’ll kick your ass.” The short reply came from an intimidatingly statuesque young lady (to use the term loosely), in the hall at Middle Ground High School. She stomped away.

“Gosh,” said Azi, stinging hot tears threatening to fall from the corners of her eyes, and not for the first time that day, either. Was that not how people in this world said hello? She had only been trying to introduce herself as a new student at school. Was that not what people did?

Azi honestly had no idea what “normal” people did. At the tender age of sixteen, she had just stepped inside a school as a student for the first time that morning. Her parents had been a couple of hippie holdouts, who had homeschooled Azi accordingly and traveled around the country with her more or less living out of an old converted RAM ProMaster 2500.

But that was before they got divorced.

Azi couldn’t tell you if her mother was adopting a more conservative lifestyle to keep custody of her daughter, or if it was being done solely to spite Azi’s dad. Either way, there was poor Azi, newly enrolled in public school so she could get properly “socialized” _(I thought ‘socialization’ was for dogs,_ Azi had said to her mom bitterly).

Azi was not a product of a traditional education. Since she loved reading and was raised by Jesus freaks, she could cite the subtle differences in Bible versions at the drop of a hat, but she sure as shit wouldn’t know a mitochondrion if it bit her on the ass.

 _Welcome to the end times of my life,_ she thought miserably. It was dramatic, sure, but she was a teen girl after all, and easily devastated by the micro acts of casual cruelty from her peers. She stepped inside the classroom and promptly found that no matter where she tried to sit, someone would pointedly beat her to claiming the spot.

Clutching her books to her chest, an extremely red-faced and injured Azi dragged a folding chair with an unsteady desk arm off the wall and to the back of the room. Her heart pounded with anxiety as it felt like all eyes were on her as the metal legs squealed against the ugly vinyl floor.

“Young lady,” the teacher called out sharply. Azi froze. “‘Azzy,’ is it?”

“It’s Azi,” she said nervously. “It’s a long ‘A,’ like in Katie.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the teacher, who didn’t sound sorry at all. Azi had never been exposed much to sarcasm, plus she could not imagine what she could have possibly done wrong upon merely entering the room. “Maybe you got used to doing whatever you wanted when you didn’t have to go to school,” her teacher continued, “but you can’t just move furniture around because you feel like it.”

Azi’s eyes widened, and she tried to ignore the snickering coming from the other students. Why were the rules so outrageous in this world? “I didn’t,” she protested, “there was no place to—”

“Detention,” said the teacher. “You’ll report back to this room at 3:35 sharp.”

Azi worried her bottom lip with her teeth, feeling like she really might not be able to prevent herself from crying in front of everyone after all. She failed to notice the other teenage girl who regarded her coolly from under a furrowed brow with one eyebrow raised. That girl wore all black, and she was so ridiculously sprawled out that her body barely touched the seat. The girl spoke, not raising her hand: _“Ma’am?”_ Ah, so _that_ was sarcasm; Azi was astonished to hear how much dripping disdain could be packed into one ironic word.

 _“What,_ Toni,” snapped the teacher.

“I think I’ll stay after, too,” the girl said cheerily.

The teacher looked physically pained, and gave the impression that interactions like this with that particular student were far from unusual. “You haven’t _done_ anything to receive detention,” the teacher drawled, “—for _once.”_

“Oh,” said … Toni? For reasons beyond her understanding, Azi felt that the name didn’t fit at all. “Well, in that case,” Toni said, “can I stay if I tell you to go choke on your mom’s chest hair?”

Azi was shocked—shocked!—to learn around 3:35 that detention was all but unsupervised, with only a moon-faced sneering student hall monitor peeking in on occasion in lieu of any staff that cared. Azi sat in the classroom, alone except for Toni and a boy whose over-bleached Warholesque mop of hair nearly swept past his eyes.

Toni and the boy sat together in the back of the room, mocking various teachers and the principal. The boy giggled uncontrollably, while Toni mostly just flashed a crooked smile. (Azi had accidentally turned around in time to see that smile, and it had done strange things to Azi’s stomach.) Toni murmured something to the boy, and they both stood and took a seat on either side of Azi, peering at her curiously.

Azi had almost worked up the nerve to tell them to leave her alone, but Toni spoke instead.

“Bit of an overreaction today with the desk thing, if you ask me,” Toni said. “First offense and everything.” After having been bullied all day, Azi’s heart swelled at the modest offering of kindness.

“I can’t see what’s so bad about moving an old chair nobody’s using anyway, just because you didn’t ask first,” said the boy on Azi’s side opposite Toni. Azi thought that his dark eyes looked as though they could bore through her.

“Not like it had a ‘don’t touch’ sign on it,” Toni added. “Why not put it in storage?”

“It must be against the rules,” Azi said hesitantly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, uh … Toni, right?”

“Crowley,” she grumbled. “That succubus knows goddamn well I go by my last name.” Crowley gestured lazily at the boy she brought over with her. “And this is Astor,” she said, “resident flaming queen.”

Astor didn’t appear offended in the slightest, and Azi smiled shyly. “That’s the color I was going for, by the way,” he whined to Crowley, indicating the heavenly star-gold of Azi’s tumbling curly hair.

Crowley ignored him. “What’d they say your name was again?” Crowley asked. “Azzy or something?”

“Azi,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m gonna call you Azzy,” Astor snarked.

Azi was trying to take in Crowley’s appearance, without being obvious. She found Crowley wildly beautiful, her amber eyes, and wavy hair burnished copper in spite of the grim overhead lighting. Crowley had one side of her head shaved, and the other completely loaded up with randomly placed bobby pins. Azi tried not to read hope into the handful of pride pins and queer slogans spotting Crowley’s black denim jacket. _I’m sure she’s only a good ally,_ Azi thought in disappointment. _Besides, I’m too chubby and dull for a girl like that to ever notice me anyway._

“So,” said Crowley, oblivious to Azi’s floating up and away in her own thought processes, “have you had any run-ins with the not-at-all aptly named Angels yet?” Her top lip curled back disgustedly.

Azi was dropped back down to earth. “Angels?” she repeated.

“The popular girls. They’re teen royalty,” Astor huffed. “If Middle Ground was … I don’t know, some magazine that people still read, they would always be on the cover.” He glowered. “First there’s Gabriela, she is one of the dumbest girls you will ever meet.”

A wicked grin stretched across Crowley’s face. “She asked me how to spell ‘dolphins,’” she said with delight. Azi bit back a laugh. Crowley nodded toward the door. “That little suck-up who keeps checking to see if we’ve run off, she’s one, too … That’s Sandy. She knows everybody’s business.”

“That’s why her ass is so big,” Astor supplied helpfully.

“Right,” said Crowley, “it’s full of secrets.”

“She thinks she’s hot shit because her dad’s some cosmetic dentist and he invented those stupid tooth gem things,” Astor scoffed.

Then Crowley scowled, her expression grotesquely dark. “And last but not least,” she snarled, “you’ve got Michaela Archangel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** [Cutting Class](https://youtu.be/JlFLvPUSgGs)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	2. Meet the Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azi has her first meeting with the Angels' clique, and Crowley starts to come up with a plan.

Azi piled her tray high with whatever caught her fancy in the à la carte line. It was not that lunch at Middle Ground was designed to appeal to the discerning palate, but Azi, who had always loved to eat, was now unleashed upon a veritable smorgasbord of foods heretofore forbidden by her granola parents. There was gluten garbage, milk chocolate—even real sugar. If nothing else, the newfound freedom to try things delighted her.

Crowley and Astor had claimed an entire table in the corner, and Azi’s knees nearly buckled when Crowley spotted her from across the cafeteria and waved at her to come over. Stunned, Azi turned around to make sure there wasn’t someone else behind her who had been the one to catch Crowley’s eye.

There was not, but when Azi turned back around, she was halted by a smirking boy in a red T-shirt sporting the words “Relapse of Kings” in white letters, blocking her path. Azi stared, confused, because she was naïve to the concept of a male being so confrontational toward her.

“You’re new here, right?” the boy asked. Behind him, a table of girls tuned in to watch the interaction with great interest.

Or a table of “Angels,” to be more precise.

“Uh, yes,” said Azi, not knowing why she was immediately set on edge. “Hello? I’m Azi.”

“Azi,” said the boy, “you have such a pretty face.” He pointed at her tray. “Do you really need all that?”

Azi was dumbstruck. Meanwhile, at the Angels’ table, Gabriela whispered brightly: “What a nice guy! More men should care about a girl’s health like that.”

“Shut up, Gabe,” Michaela snapped.

“Yeah, Gabe!” sniffed Sandy, latching to Michaela’s tone like a parasite. She paused. “It’s, like, total blasphemy—her face isn’t even all that pretty.”

“You ignorant sluts, both of you!” hissed Michaela. “Where would you even be without me to tell you how to act? ‘Woke’ is in! And besides, the group needs a little diversity since Ariel moved back to stupid Michigan.” Michaela looked up. “Hey, new girl,” she called Azi, “is he bothering you?”

“Um,” was all Azi could manage. She looked heartbroken.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Michaela shouted at the boy. He was visibly afraid of her. “Now get lost, you fatphobic incel! It’s 2020, body-shaming is over!”

The boy tucked his head down and scrambled away, muttering something to himself about SJW’s cucking the whole damn country. “Er, uh, thank you for that,” mumbled Azi, her cheeks hot pink.

“Wait!” said Michaela, before Azi could run away from the scene. Michaela sounded warm as fresh-baked pie. “Sit down.” She leaned forward on her elbows as Azi shakily took a seat, looking torn. Across the caf’, Crowley thrust out her arms melodramatically in one last bid for Azi’s attention. “Why don’t I know you?” Michaela asked.

“I’m new,” said Azi. “I used to be homeschooled.”

“Wait. What?” Michaela’s green eyes glittered with something ferocious.

“My parents taught me at home—”

“No, no,” Michaela scoffed in annoyance, “I know what homeschool is, I’m not re— _neurodivergent.”_

Gabriela looked confused, which suited her nicely. “Do you mean reta—”

 _“Shut UP,_ Gabe!” Michaela recollected herself. “So, you’ve never actually been to a real school before?”

Azi shook her head silently. Despite Michaela’s seemingly amicable demeanor, Azi felt increasingly flustered by her icy gaze.

“Fascinating,” Michaela purred.

“Neat!” said Gabriela.

Sandy examined her smile in her knife, attempting to scrape a bit of lettuce out from between her two front teeth with her rose-painted pinkie nail.

“Where did you live before?” Michaela pressed on.

Azi fidgeted desperately. She had been living in fear of that question. “Uh, we used a couple different mailing addresses …”

“That’s not an answer,” said Michaela, sounding suddenly irritated.

Azi swallowed. “We were, uh … _RVers.”_ It wasn’t a complete lie, she thought; any vehicle could be “recreational” if you tried hard enough.

Michaela gasped. “You cannot be serious,” she said gleefully. “You were a van person? Like—down by the river?”

Gabriela tilted her head to one side. “So, if you’re a van person,” she said slowly, the lights flickering off and on in her eyes, “why don’t you have, like, dreadlocks, or something?”

“Oh, my Lord, Gabe,” Michaela said haughtily, “you can’t just ask people why they don’t appropriate other cultures.”

Gabriela appeared to be puzzling something out. “What makes the other cultures inappropriate?”

Michaela coughed politely into one hand, and Gabriela and Sandy’s heads snapped to attention. “Well, ladies,” Michaela started, “what do we think?” Gabriela nodded perkily, although it was unclear if she knew to what she was agreeing. Sandy rolled her eyes but said nothing (she knew the question was rhetorical anyway).

“Okay, Azi,” said Michaela, “we’ve decided, that you may sit with us at lunch for the rest of the week.” Her tone brooked no argument.

Gabriela clapped her hands together, then made a motion like pretending to apply makeup to her cheek: “On Wednesdays, we wear glitter!”

Crowley and Astor had caught up with Azi later that day, and invited her to Crowley’s “lair” after dinner. It was essentially a shed in the back of Crowley’s parents’ property, painted a moody matte charcoal and minimally furnished with a few items like a mattress on the floor, with classic rock posters papering its thin walls. There was also a red leather bean bag chair where Astor had immediately thrown himself, effectively forcing Crowley and Azi both onto the bed.

Crowley twisted the cap off a lukewarm bottle of cheap whiskey, chugged from it, and held it out to Azi. Azi smiled graciously but shook her head. “Best not,” she said gently.

 _“Whoo-eee,”_ said Crowley with a sharp grin. “What an angel.” She handed the bottle to Astor instead, who happily polished off half of it.

“I’m not trying to be holier-than-thou,” said Azi defensively. “You’re just going a little too fast for me. I’ve never even had a beer, and that stuff looks disgusting.”

“It _is_ disgusting,” Crowley snorted, wresting the bottle back from Astor before he could finish it on his own. “I’m broke and underage, I’m sorry I don’t have any Moey and Chandon lying around.”

“‘Moët,’” Azi corrected reflexively.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“You, uh—you pronounce the ‘T,’” Azi explained.

“That can’t be right,” Astor grunted. “S’French, isn’t it?”

Azi tried to keep her mouth shut, not wanting to sound like a snob, but failed on account of being an utter word nerd. “Yes, well, that is true, but you see, the house of Moët was founded by Claude Moët, whose surname is Dutch, and so the conventions—”

“I knew all that, I said it that way on purpose,” Crowley lied. “‘Cause of the song. You know … _She keeps her Moey and Chandon, in her pretty cabinet …”_  


“I don’t know that one,” said Azi anxiously.

“You _**what?”**_ Crowley’s wide amber eyes looked about ready to burst out of her skull.

 _“I don’t know that one!”_ Azi wailed. Crowley’s heart skipped a beat at Azi’s vulnerable expression. “I grew up in a van, for heaven’s sake! I’m soft, and I’ve never … been invited to a party or had a drink, and my parents hardly let me listen to anything that wasn’t Jars of Clay, and I don’t fit in anywhere—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” said Crowley, putting her hand firmly on top of Azi’s to ground her from spiraling out any further. Azi pulled her hand back, simply from the shock of being touched, but Crowley looked hurt for an instant. Crowley immediately stuffed that down. “You fit in here, right?” Crowley pointed out. “Or else we wouldn’t want you here.”

Azi sniffed, suddenly embarrassed at letting her emotions get the best of her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I just … I was worried maybe you were just being nice.”

Crowley made a strange sound low in her throat. “I’m not nice,” she growled.

“Speaking of not nice,” Astor interrupted, “what was that all about at lunch today? You spent the whole period sitting with the Angels.”

“Ah, yes, that,” said Azi nervously. “They want me to sit with them again tomorrow—er, all week, actually. I think they want … to be friends.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped, and mischief shone in her face. “You have to do it!” she said. “And then you have to tell me all the idiotic things that Michaela says!”

“Michaela seems sweet,” Azi said hesitantly.

 _“Sweet?”_ Crowley snarled viciously. “Michaela Archangel is _not_ sweet. She’s a wing-wanking human key scratch! She ruined my life!”

“Why do you hate her?” Azi probed cautiously.

Astor sat up. “It’s because Michaela started this rumor that Crowley was—”

 _“Astor!”_ shrieked Crowley, mortified. _“Ngk!”_ Astor looked away.

“But I wouldn’t even know what to talk to them about,” Azi protested, shaking her head.

“TikTok,” offered Astor.

“Don’t rush me!” Azi cried.

“You’ll do fine, angel,” said Crowley.

Azi’s vision wavered for a second at Crowley calling her angel. “Well, okay,” she said softly, “I guess I’ll do it.” She paused, remembering something Gabriela said. “I’m going to need some glitter.”

Crowley barked out a harsh laugh. “We do not have any glitter,” she said.

“I _doooooooo,”_ sang Astor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** [Meet the Plastics](https://youtu.be/jMTPp-QGWfo)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	3. The Burn Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azi bonds with her new friends and comes out to them.

Having lunch with the Angels sure had a lot of rules.

It was Wednesday, and just like Gabriela had instructed Azi during lunch yesterday, all three of the Angels were painted with glitter accents to their ineffably flawless makeup. Gabriela’s eyelids sparkled with a rich royal purple to catch the light and create the stunning illusion that her eyes were Liz Taylor violet. Michaela, confident as she was, had made the dramatic choice to smudge her prominent cheekbones with constellations of rose gold. Sandy had a golden hue as well, applied fastidiously to her lips over a creamy matte.

Azi felt like an idiot. She hadn’t known there was apparently a science to such things. Astor had supplied her with a pretty shade of pale blue, but she more or less looked like she had just poured some into a bowl and then stuck her whole head in it (she had).

Furthermore, she got the distinct impression that she was, well, “cute,” drowned out in the celestial light of true ethereal beauties. Azi had never seen anybody as glamorous as Michaela, with her designer labels and never a single auburn strand out of place. Even Sandy, who stood shorter than the rest and pulled her flat-ironed hair back too tight, was self-assured and expensively dressed enough to make Azi feel inadequate in comparison.

Not that it took much to make Azi feel that way about herself, if she was being honest.

While Azi was distracted thinking about those things, Sandy had been deadly serious rattling off the regulations for being seen with the Angels at lunch: “And we only wear jeans or track pants on Fridays,” she continued. “And,” she looked Azi up and down in disgust, “I don’t know where you can even buy tartan anymore, but you’re done buying it.”

Azi bit her lip but said nothing. She had told Crowley she would at least try to tolerate these girls for a little bit, right?

Michaela was ignoring Sandy entirely, skimming the back of a school-issued and thus predictably ratty paperback copy of _Hamlet._ “This is so stupid!” she said. “I hate this college prep English. I’m never going to need to know this stuff!”

Azi perked up immediately. “What trouble are you having with it?”

Michaela scowled. “You know we’re supposed to translate that pointless rambling _‘To be or not to be’_ shit into real English. I’ve read it like a hundred times now and I still don’t get it.” She puffed out her cheeks in annoyance. “Literally all I know about it is that ugly guy who all the art freaks like held a real fucking skull for it.”

“I know who that is,” said Gabriela, “the weird girls from gym are always talking about him.” She furrowed her brow. “I think he’s kinda cute, though.”

“You think anything with a dick is cute,” Michaela snapped. “He looks like a demonic little snake man.”

Azi wiggled happily in her seat. “I can help you with that soliloquy!” she said. “The simplest explanation is, Hamlet is trying to choose between life and death. It is rather dark, because he’s contemplating suicide. He asks us—in our role as the audience—if it is nobler to suffer through life’s misfortunes, or—”

“I’m literally going to copy and paste the answer off Google,” Michaela grumbled, flinging the book across the table.

As she walked home from school, Azi pondered that the language of the Angels’ world was so difficult to understand. She was positive that she had been getting on Michaela’s nerves at lunch, not that she quite understood why. She was preparing herself to tell Crowley that the plan was a bust, that there was no way the Angels would keep her around long enough for Azi to do whatever it was Crowley hoped to accomplish, when Michaela’s silver convertible came squealing around the bend with all three Angels inside.

 _“Get in, loser,”_ Michaela shouted from the driver’s seat. “We’re going shopping.”

Azi had never spent so much on clothes before. She had no idea how she was going to explain herself to her mother.

The thing of it was, the more time Azi spent around Michaela, the more it mattered to Azi what Michaela thought of her. It was like getting the seal of pretty approval from a picture-perfect Barbie doll. And Michaela had kept picking things out for Azi to try on, and telling her that she _could_ be beautiful with just a little help from the Angels, and somehow Michaela managed to say things like that so sweetly that under the surface sting of all the negative connotations … Azi felt sort of proud.

It wasn’t easy like hanging out in Crowley’s shack. It didn’t feel as if she “fit in.” But it felt like maybe, just maybe, if she tried really hard, she could be good enough to deserve to be an Angel. Crowley felt like a friend, but were she and Azi the same? Crowley acted like she didn’t even care that she had essentially fallen in the pit of the Middle Ground social sphere.

Now Azi and the three Angels (or was it just four Angels including Azi?) hung out together, giggling in Michaela’s enormous, beautiful bedroom—so white and pristine—dumping out shopping bags on Michaela’s bed and talking about makeup, and celebrities, and all the “girl talk” Azi dreamed about growing up but never got to have.

None of it even got awkward until the subject of boys came up.

“So,” Sandy started, “have you seen any guys that you think are cute yet?”

“Oh, I,” Azi stuttered.

“Aaw,” said Gabriela, “she’s shy!”

“Heh, sure,” said Azi, wincing.

“Or she’s not interested,” said Michaela methodically from across the room.

Nobody said anything. _Am I really that obvious?_ Azi wondered.

“You can tell us, you know,” Michaela prodded, ever so gently. “This is a safe space … we accept everyone here.”

Gabriela and Sandy both turned just enough to stare at Azi.

“Oh, well, uh,” said Azi, “that’s very kind of you. So glad to hear it.” She smiled weakly. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if high schools these days were okay with gay people.”

Michaela smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “We’re not monsters, Azi,” she assured her.

Azi’s expression was soft and grateful. She felt like a weight had been lifted. She hadn’t even told Crowley. It was good to know she could trust Michaela.

Gabriela shrieked, her focus already someplace else entirely. “I can’t believe this is still up!” she said. She had been playing around on the laptop on Michaela’s desk, and she was showing the other girls an open browser tab now.

“Good Lord,” said Michaela. “I don’t even know what I have open on that thing.” She preened. “I’ve hardly used it since I made my mom get me a new one in the right color.”

(And just like that, nobody appeared interested in talking about Azi’s sexual orientation, because Michaela wasn’t talking about it.)

“Check it out, Azi,” snickered Sandy, who seemed to be slowly starting to accept Azi as part of the group. “It’s our anonymous Tumblr for burning bitches.”

Michaela read off the screen fondly: “‘[The Lit and Accurate Burn Book of Every Middle Ground Bitch](http://the-lit-and-accurate-burn-book.tumblr.com).’” She laughed. “We were so dramatic.”

“It’s our online Burn Book,” Gabriela told Azi, by way of explanation. She shifted a little to make room for Azi to see the screen.

“Every year some ‘concerned parent’ tries to start a witch hunt to figure out who runs it.” Michaela grinned broadly. “Not like they could really do anything about it if they did.”

“Freedom of speech should be free, that’s what I say,” Sandy intoned solemnly.

Gabriela did a double take. “Holy shit, Sandy, that was deep,” she said. “I’m texting that to myself to use later.”

Sandy beamed.

Gabriela was going through the tags on the page. “‘Anathema Device got the bottom knocked out of her by the fugliest boy in school,’” she read out loud.

“Gross, I remember that,” said Michaela.

Gabriela surfed back earlier in time, and Sandy read an entry over Gabriela’s shoulder to the group: “‘Newton Pulsifer is a basement-dwelling virgin.’”

Michaela laughed. “Well, I guess we need to update that.”

“‘Toni Crowley,’” Gabriela read aloud, “‘Satan-worshiping psycho.’”

Azi wrinkled her forehead. She wanted to ask what that meant, about Crowley, when Michaela’s mom derailed that train of thought by popping her head into the room. “Hey, you guys!” she said, bubbly as anything. “Whatcha looking at?”

Gabriela jumped, and could barely close the laptop in her panic. _“Pornography!”_

“Holy hell!” said Crowley. “You actually saw proof that they did the Burn Book??”

Azi nodded. “It’s so mean,” she said sadly.

“Well, yeah,” said Crowley, who was amazed by the turn of events. “It’s not called the Soothing Aloe Book.” Crowley took a moment to glare at the wilting aloe plant newly placed in the corner of her hangout. “S’not even trying,” she mumbled moodily to herself. “Look, Azi,” she said, turning her attention back to her, “you have to get on there and make a post.”

“Crowley, I can’t do that!” Azi said desperately.

“Come on, angel—”

“That’s just it!” said Azi. “I’m an Angel! Michaela’s my … friend.”

Crowley made a strangled noise. “Yeah? You want to spend eternity with people like that?” Crowley grimaced. “They don’t even read—”

“You don’t read!” Azi argued.

“Not the point!” said Crowley.

“So what exactly is your point?!” Azi asked wildly.

 _“My point is,”_ said Crowley, “my point is … _are they even nice to you?”_ She sounded weak.

Azi elected not to answer that. “I believe things happen for a reason,” she said, a bit halfheartedly. “These people came into my life for a reason, and now you’re asking me to hurt them.”

Crowley threw her hands up in the air. “Yes, good,” she said quickly, “you just proved my point. You can’t be certain that _this_ isn’t the reason: part of some ‘Divine Plan’ or other such nonsense.” Crowley heaved out a long sigh. “Look, I know you’re an angel—not an _Angel,_ by the way—and you want to do good.” She paused. “But people who see evil stuff being done and don’t try to stop it, are just as bad as people who do evil stuff.”

Azi looked at her shoes.

“I _know_ I’m petty, believe me, I do—big petty fan, me,” Crowley acquiesced, spreading her hands, “but that’s not all this is about. What they’re doing to people is wrong.”

Azi sucked in her lips. “I’ll keep hanging out with them and telling you everything,” she said finally. “Let me think about the rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** [The Burn Book](https://youtu.be/9Jc7IST4ABI)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	4. The Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michaela is not pleased to hear what her ex-boyfriend thinks about Azi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter.
> 
> CW for anti-lesbian language ... but you already saw that coming.

“Move,” Michaela abruptly ordered a mousy girl sitting at a desk in study hall. The girl immediately leapt to find another seat.

Michaela sat, legs crossed neatly but spine twisted so that she could look at the boy sitting behind her. Then she looked back over her shoulder to smile serenely at the teacher up front. It seemed even staff members felt threatened by the infinite reservoir of cool cruelty that was Michaela Archangel. The teacher immediately busied himself with pretending to go through a drawer of objects that had been confiscated from students throughout the years, which was so disorganized that it contained a blue Nokia 2600 taken off a student in 2004. It was still running on battery life.

 _“Hiiii, Liiige,”_ Michaela sang charmingly.

Lige frowned, not looking up from the photorealistic lizard he was sketching into the surface of his desk with the point of an old compass nicked from the art room. “What do you want,” he muttered, phrasing it as a statement instead of a question.

“Is that any way to greet your favorite girlfriend?” Michaela asked, putting her elbows on his desk and cradling her chin on the backs of her perfectly manicured hands.

 _“Ex_ -girlfriend,” said Lige, carving away. “Because you cheated on me with Famien.” He paused, gritting his teeth. “S’not even a real name.”

“You’re one to talk,” said Michaela.

“It’s short for Elijah,” Lige said defensively.

“Then why’s there a ‘G’ in it?” Michaela snapped. “Anyway,” she said after a beat, “whatcha say we forget all that?”

“Because you only ever call me when you want something,” said Lige.

“Who can blame me,” asked Michaela cheekily, “when you have so much to offer a girl?” She grinned. “It’s not my fault you throw the greatest parties in school.”

“And there it is!” said Lige triumphantly, slamming the compass down. “For fuck’s sake, Michaela, tomorrow’s October 3rd already, you haven’t talked to me in months, and now you want to come to my Halloween party?”

Michaela leaned back against her desk. “You know I could just show up,” she said, a touch darkly. “What are you going to do about it? It would be social suicide to throw me out.” She smiled. “This is really just a courtesy RSVP. You should be thankful I even give you that.”

Lige pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whatever,” he said.

“Admit it,” Michaela continued, “you want me there. It’s free clout for you. And nobody’s gonna look sexier than me.” She flipped her hair. “I’m just trying to be friendly here.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Lige, who couldn’t help but soften (or harden, anyway; no sense in wasting a good dad joke) at the image of Michaela in a Halloween costume. “Do something for _me,_ though—for once,” he grunted. “Bring your new friend.”

“Wait, what?” Michaela’s neck began to turn a lovely shade of Louboutin red from mounting rage.

“The new girl,” he said distractedly. “The pretty blonde.”

 _“The—pretty—”_ Michaela was quickly losing her veneer of being effortlessly unbothered at all times.

“How do you not know who I’m talking about?” asked Lige, who was never good at reading a room. “That—”

 _“Dyke,”_ Michaela finished for him, shouting it loud enough that people in the front row were turning around to eavesdrop. _“I’m right here,_ and you’ve got a crush on that carpet-munching, pillow-biting _dyke!”_

Lige blinked. “Well, which is she?” he asked stupidly. “I don’t think they can munch carpet and bite the pillow at the same time— Wait, did you just say she’s gay?”

“You fucking moron!” Michaela spat out. “Azi Raphael is a nasty fucking lesbo!”

An unsubtle murmur rolled around the room like waves of stormy water.

“Huh,” said Lige, “guess she wouldn’t like me then. Thanks for the heads-up. You know, you’re still cool sometimes, you saved me a lot of time.”

Michaela’s jaw dropped at how few fucks Lige gave. “And she’s totally weird about it!” She just kept going, she couldn’t stop now. How _dare_ Lige like Azi, of all people? Everything cool about her was because of Michaela. “She’s got it bad for me, _obviously,_ and I’ve told her I don’t swing like that, and she just keeps making moves on me like some stalker!”

Lige pursed his lips. “That’s shitty,” he agreed. “It’s one thing to be a freak, but, like, be a freak that respects consent, and stuff.”

“That’s what I said!” Michaela raved. Michaela took a slow breath, and started to calm down. “Look, I still like hanging out with her,” she said, in a saintly tone of voice. “She can’t help herself, she grew up with zero social skills. She’s mostly good under it all, I feel like I can be a good influence on her.”

Lige’s face broke just enough to betray a tiny smitten smile. “I’m sorry I get so mean at you,” he said gruffly. “I just miss you, ya know? And then you gotta go and remind me what an angel you are.”

“It’s God’s work,” said Michaela coldly, “somebody has to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** [Halloween](https://youtu.be/D0JMoa4QfA0?t=106) (1:46)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	5. Harsh Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Azi discuss Azi's revenge for Michaela's betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a false accusation of rape/sexual harassment.

Azi had been spending several weeks now hanging out with the Angels, and looking fabulous (she thought) as a result of their influence, and she was greatly enjoying the social status that came with all that. So she was mind-blown to have left school one day as popular as she could ever imagine being, only to return the next Monday to a chilly radio silence emanating from her peers.

Her heart raced in her chest as she tried to look casual opening her locker. She spun the dial _(4-0-0-4,_ she reminded herself of the combination), and was taken aback to find the floor of her locker littered inches deep in paper footballs, which had been shoved through the grates of the long locker door. Her hands shook as she unfolded one to read it, then another, and another. Azi felt fat tears starting to swim around the rims of her eyes.

_Queer._

__

__

_Molester._

_I saw people putting notes in your locker, so I put a note in your locker._

Azi heard whispering, then whipped around in time to see two girls across the hall giggling and pointing at her. They weren’t anyone Azi knew. Azi swallowed and summoned up all her courage. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded to know.

“Don’t act like you don’t know the tea,” said the first girl, curling her lip. “Everyone knows how you basically tried to rape Michaela Archangel.”

“And I oop!” said the second girl.

“What?!” Azi shrieked.

“I said, you basically tried to rape—,” the first girl started.

“I heard that,” said Azi, “it was the whatever she said!”

 _“Sksksksksksksksk,”_ said the second girl.

“What is that noise and how the hell are you making it out loud??” shouted Azi.

Just then, Michaela Archangel swept in between Azi and the other girls. “Ladies,” said Michaela appeasingly, “thank you so much for your concern, but I do not condone bullying under any circumstances.”

“Wow,” said the first girl, “Michaela is so incredibly forgiving and brave.”

The second girl touched her chest and gasped, deeply moved. _“Wig,”_ she breathed.

Michaela took Azi by the arm and pulled her away. When they reached a clear alcove in front of an empty classroom, Azi snatched her arm back. _“What did you do?”_ Azi growled.

“I promise this is all one great big misunderstanding,” said Michaela, eyes wide and forlorn.

“You told people I was gay??” Azi asked. “And what, that I tried to … take advantage of you?”

Michaela knew, that it was always easier to pass off a half-truth as reality, rather than a flat-out lie. “Not exactly,” she said. “Azi, I’m _so_ sorry … I mentioned that you’re a lesbian to _one_ person, who I thought I could trust, he’d asked me if I could help set him up with you … I just assumed, you’re such a strong and independent woman, I figured you were out!”

Azi cupped her hand against her mouth, and willed herself not to cry. “Well, I’m not,” she said. “… Wasn’t.”

Michaela gently placed one hand on Azi’s shoulder. “Maybe this will all be for the best,” she comforted. “You deserve to live in your truth, girl!”

“So what was all that other stuff about then?” Azi asked. “About, you and me …”

Michaela sighed. “You know how people are,” she said. “They hear something juicy, and they just run with the details.”

Azi breathed out. Something had clicked into place for her, but somehow, instead of upsetting her further, she felt an eerily competent calm wash over her.

 _She didn’t say that she never said it,_ Azi thought.

“You know what, Michaela?” said Azi smoothly. “I think that you’re right. I think this will all be for the best.”

“Why would she do this?” asked Azi, who was pacing back and forth in Crowley’s hangout spot.

“Because she’s a life-ruiner,” said Crowley, as delicately as she knew how. “She ruins people’s lives, Azi.”

“When we were eleven,” said Astor, “she made people sign this petition saying that Crowley was—”

“Shut _up,_ Astor!” Crowley said. “Look, Azi, I shouldn’t have gotten you into all this trouble. The last thing I wanted was to see you embarrassed.” She took a breath. “But we can do something,” Crowley said. She flashed a grin that was all teeth, spite, and Lee Van Cleef vibes. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” asked Azi hopelessly.

“We make Michaela Archangel _fall,”_ said Crowley, suddenly serious, _“on her face._ Without a hot body and a band of bimbos, Michaela would be nothing. So, we put on our big girl panties and our fuck-shit-up jackets, and we take those two things away!” Crowley’s eyes glowed dark as cheap whiskey in the dismal light of the shed as she spoke passionately. “But to do that, you have to keep hanging out with the Angels like nothing is wrong. Can you do it?”

Azi surprised herself with the realization that she knew she could go back to school tomorrow, go out with the Angels, and muscle on through it like she felt nothing at all. She would not allow Michaela to go unpunished—this was about to be Azi’s trial by fire. “I can do it,” she said with resolve.

“I believe you,” said Crowley.

“You got this,” said Astor. “I’m gonna go grab a smoke. I’ll be back in a minute.”

A heavy mood settled over Crowley and Azi as Astor stepped out. “Crowley, look,” Azi said, “there’s something I need to ask you.”

Crowley tilted her head and stared, seeming to be holding in her breath.

“This whole thing,” said Azi, trembling, “with me being gay—I mean, I know you have Astor, but—sometimes girls can be different when it comes to other girls, and—please, I need to hear you say if you have any problem with me now.”

Crowley’s jaw hung slack. “Angel, are you being serious? No, of course I don’t have a problem with that, I’m a—”

“Crowley, they’re trying to make it sound like I’m some kind of predator!” Azi railed. “As if I just roam around looking to debauch innocent straight women like a regular rakish cad. I would _never_ do anything like that, you know I’d never even hit on you!”

Crowley looked wounded. “‘Course,” she said.

“I haven’t been a good friend to you,” said Azi miserably. “I’ve been coming around less and less. I know I have no right to ask you to keep being such a good friend to me.” Azi gazed into Crowley’s eyes, her own shimmering with emotion and so very blue. “But that’s what I need right now more than anything, is one real friend.”

Crowley observed Azi silently for a moment, barely long enough for Azi to register a change in beat. Crowley fished a pair of dark glasses out of her jacket pocket and slid them on. “Of course I’m a friend, Azi,” she said. “What did you think I was about to say a second ago?”

“Oh, Crowley,” said Azi breathlessly, throwing her arms around her. “I feel like I can always count on you to come to my rescue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** [Halloween](https://youtu.be/D0JMoa4QfA0?t=222) (3:42)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	6. Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase one of "Operation to Hell With Michaela" is in effect, and Michaela warns Azi about Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for reference to suicide attempt. Also, Crowley is baby ❤️

“What do you mean, it’s been making her hair look _better?”_

Azi laid back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling in her room. Normally it would have bothered Crowley to feel like she was in someone else’s territory, but Azi’s place had grown on her; Azi’s bedroom held more books than some bookshops, and the smell of paper combined with Azi’s natural perfume soothed Crowley’s soul. “I, I mean just that,” Azi sputtered. “I’ve been doing exactly what you told me! Whenever we hang out at Michaela’s, I go into her bathroom, and I add some oil to her shampoo. I always have the oil on me in a little travel bottle, so I never even have to go into her kitchen.”

Crowley sucked in her lips and released them, making a popping sound. “And you are adding the conditioner in, too, right?” Crowley asked, making it sound like this conversation was of the gravest significance. “Otherwise the consistency makes it obvious that someone messed with it.”

Azi nodded, rubbing her face in her hands. “And then I shake it all up before I put it back,” she insisted. “And her hair looks glossier than ever!”

Phase one of Operation to Hell With Michaela: Make Michaela Ugly had been underway for weeks, and as far as either Crowley or Azi could tell, Michaela was too blessed by the beauty gods to even catch one chink in her armor.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Crowley. “She should be greasier than Bella Swan by now. You should be able to _smell_ a _picture_ of her.”

Crowley’s head shot up suddenly. “Angel,” she said urgently, “you are using _vegetable_ oil, right?”

Azi had been fidgeting with her hands across her belly, and she froze now. “You said to use cooking oil,” said Azi.

“Right,” said Crowley, “‘cooking oil’ means vegetable oil.”

“My mom doesn’t keep stuff like vegetable oil,” Azi huffed irritably. “You know I was raised all organic and healthy.”

“Angel, please don’t say it …”

“We cook with olive oil.”

_“For fuck’s sake, Azi …”_

“What?!” Azi exclaimed.

Crowley leaned back against the wall where she sat on the floor and gripped at her fiery red hair. “Azi,” she groaned loudly, “olive oil is _good_ for your hair!”

“Well, I don’t know this stuff!” Azi whined. “Until this year all I ever used was apple cider vinegar and baking soda!”

“This is incredible,” said Crowley, shaking her head. “It’s like your angelic nature is just diametrically opposed to pulling off pranks.”

The first week, Azi had been adding raw egg to Michaela’s liquid shower soap, on Crowley’s advisement that a hot shower is a high enough temperature to set egg, so Michaela would be horrified to discover that she was essentially scrubbing herself with an omelette. What Crowley had not counted on, was that Michaela was so committed to skincare and keeping her pores small that she took freezing cold showers. The enzymes in the egg whites had actually helped even out her skin tone.

Azi chose not to wonder where Crowley had accumulated all this nefarious knowledge.

Crowley crawled a couple feet on her knees toward Azi’s desk, and started nosily opening and closing drawers for no particular reason other than sheer boredom and excess energy. Azi paid her no mind. The comfortability they had with each other had grown so much in such a short amount of time. Crowley made a curious sound as she took a plastic-wrapped food bar out of a drawer.

(It’s worth noting that Crowley wasn’t much of a snacker, but the idea of stealing something or helping herself to it always seemed to make things taste better.)

“Oh, I don’t think you want to eat that,” said Azi.

Crowley paused, having just started to peel the wrapper. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked.

“Nothing, technically,” said Azi. “It’s a Manna Matter bar.”

Crowley laughed sharply. “I don’t even know where to begin with that name,” she said. “First of all, calling any food ‘matter’ just makes it sound gross.”

“Well, they are gross,” said Azi.

Crowley inspected the unmarked wrapper. “Why isn’t there any nutritional information or anything?”

“Because they’re not something you can go buy at a store. But I can tell you that they bulk you up. One of the churches involved with my family years ago made them for distributing at soup kitchens, food drives … anywhere you might have hungry kids. So if you’re a healthy person on a normal diet, they would make you fat.” Azi looked over Crowley’s lanky frame. “On second thought, maybe you could use one.”

Crowley laughed and threw the bar at Azi on the bed, who giggled and blocked the flying object with her palms. Then Crowley cracked her neck and peered at Azi without saying a word. Eventually she asked, “Do you have more of them?”

“I have a whole case,” said Azi. “I should probably throw them out, but they remind me of doing volunteer work with my dad.”

Crowley stared.

Azi sat up on her elbows on the bed as comprehension washed over her, and Crowley smiled like a snake.

“Why isn’t there any nutritional information on them?” Michaela asked suspiciously, as she turned a Manna Matter bar over in one hand. It was the day after Azi had told Crowley about the bars. Azi and Michaela were at Michaela’s house, and Michaela was leaning across her kitchen island.

“Because they’re not something you can go buy in a store,” said Azi in a saccharine voice. “I don’t even know if all the ingredients are legal. They give you so much energy and then the pounds just melt away.”

“So this is like some big hippie van person secret?” Michaela pressed forward.

“Oh, yeah,” said Azi, smiling broadly. “How else do you think all those women on the Instagram stay so skinny?”

Michaela eyed Azi’s figure meaningfully. “So why don’t you eat them?”

 _Bitch!_ thought Azi. “I’m allergic,” she said flatly.

“Huh,” said Michaela. She sniffed the bar in her hand experimentally. Then her face broke into a beaming smile. “Thanks, girlfriend!” she said. Then she wrinkled her nose, seeming to catch herself. “Not, like, _girlfriend_ girlfriend.”

“No,” said Azi dryly, “I get it.”

“But in all seriousness, I do appreciate it,” said Michaela. It always disturbed Azi to see just how genuine Michaela could look and sound when she wanted. “I want to lose a couple pounds before the spring fling,” she said. She raised her eyebrows once coyly. “When I’m voted queen again for another year, I want to look my best in all those tagged pics.”

“Naturally,” said Azi.

Michaela put on her best open and honest face. “I’m really glad we’re still friends,” she said. “I hate that other people’s petty gossip almost got between us.”

“No rumor started by somebody else was ever going to affect our friendship,” said Azi truthfully.

Michaela frowned. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” said Michaela.

“Oh?” Azi was sincerely caught off-guard, and curious.

“Yeaaah,” drawled Michaela. “I think I know who started that rumor about you.”

 _Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one,_ thought Azi. “Really?”

“It’s just … Sandy said she saw you after school the one day that we didn’t hang out, and you were talking a _lot_ with Toni Crowley.”

Azi’s stomach flipped. “Yeah,” she said, trying not to panic. “I, uh, I don’t know why she always tries to talk to me.”

“I can think of a few reasons maybe,” said Michaela with a smirk. “I mean, you are pretty, Azi. And _mostly_ popular now. I don’t know what Toni’s into, but let’s say it would definitely make sense if someone like her didn’t like guys.” Michaela paused, then looked apologetic. “Not that _you’re_ anything like her,” she explained, “but you know how a lot of these freaks are into … alternative lifestyles, on top of things.”

Azi gulped. “What … I mean, I saw in the Burn Book about her, but I don’t know the story.”

“Oh, geez,” said Michaela. “I guess I should really warn you then. You know, in case she ever tries to talk to you again.” Michaela paused dramatically. “What you need to know first is, Toni Crowley and I were best friends in grade school. Yeah, I know,” she said, in response to Azi’s nervous smile. “It’s embarrassing. But yeah, we were close, she was one of the original Angels and everything.”

Michaela jumped up on a kitchen counter and made herself comfortable. “So anyway,” she went on, “around fifth grade is when we got Gabriela and Sandy, and all four of us would take turns having sleepovers. And we’d want to do normal stuff like talk about boys and do makeovers, and she’d want to do all this weird witchy stuff like ouija boards and everything. But then it got worse, because the older we got the more she just kept asking weird questions that you don’t ask, and then all of a sudden she was saying that she thought she might be an atheist, which I was like, I can’t. I’m not going to hell for this girl. Right?”

Azi clenched her teeth and nodded, disgusted to do so but wanting to hear everything that Michaela would say if Azi just let her keep talking.

“So then as if she weren’t weird enough she gets this pet snake, right? And the three of us are like, _um, who gets a snake?_ And we’re like—oh, my God, this girl has got to be a total Satanist! She’s going to sacrifice this snake! And we couldn’t just _not_ tell anyone after we figured that out, right? I don’t even like snakes, but that doesn’t mean I want to see one get cut up, she was a Satanist! So when word got out that she was going to kill this snake, her mom took it back, and then nobody wanted anything to do with her.”

Azi felt like she might throw up. She tried to imagine having a pet taken away from her, because of a vicious lie, and then to be completely ostracized to boot.

“So then she sort of fell off the planet for a while and people said she’d tried to kill herself or something stupid, and when she came back to school the next year she’d shaved her head and started dressing like some goth my mom’s age.” Michaela shrugged. “Just be careful,” she said. Michaela let out a little laugh. “I don’t want her getting, like, a lock of your hair so she can do some weird voodoo with it.”

“That’s a terrible story,” Azi croaked, her mouth dry. She meant it.

“I know, right?” said Michaela. “Damn,” she said, “you’re so lucky you have me to look out for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** ["Why are you so obsessed with me?"](https://youtu.be/wTHVWBpBgbQ)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	7. Why Are You so Obsessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy has cracked--but Azi might be getting a little carried away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've seen the movie, right? Yes? Good.
> 
> Then you know Azi will come back to her senses soon enough. Don't worry! I would never give innocent readers an evil Aziraphale or an unhappy ending, just dumb comedy.

Azi found it fascinating the way Crowley’s body inhabited the bean bag chair in her shed. It was like the fundamental physics of Crowley were based in a separate world—one in which she was alien queen and every seat her throne—where gravity made one sprawl instead of sink.

Azi fluffed up some throw pillows on Crowley’s mattress on the floor and burrowed into them. Whereas Crowley had grown comfortable with Azi to the point where she poked around her desk drawers without asking, so Azi had been surreptitiously introducing fleecy blankets and pillows into Crowley’s ascetic space.

“Why is everything the color of eggs?” Crowley asked obliquely.

“What?” said Azi.

“Everything you sneak in here is eggshell, or robin’s egg blue …”

Azi sniffed. “Not everything needs to be black and red and grey, you know,” she said.

“No,” said Crowley, “but it ought to be.” She was as always pretending to hate the new level of inviting that her bed had been acquiring lately, but she was not fooling Azi, who had pretty well determined early on that Crowley needed soft things even more than she did. And Crowley deserved to have softness in her life, and by acting begrudging toward Azi for gifting it, that enabled her to keep acting “hard.”

(The pillows had various cheesy expressions and graphics, and Crowley never would have admitted it in six thousand years but she had started cuddling up with the unicorn pattern-printed one while she fell asleep alone at night. It was so fuzzy, and something about the thought of a world with unicorns made Crowley more misty-eyed than she cared to examine.)

“So did she take the bait?” asked Crowley, switching gears with a wicked grin.

Azi tried and failed not to look a little evil herself. “Well, she ate two right in front of me,” she said. “I told her, they have zero calories, so the more you consume the more you just ingest weight loss agents.”

“That’s amazing,” said Crowley, “she’s dumber than I thought.”

Azi looked thoughtful. “I don’t think we should underestimate her,” she said, considering. “I’m not sure what it is, but there is something sharp about her.”

“Well, she’s smarter than Gabriela, that’s for sure,” said Crowley. A darkness passed over her features. “She’s cunning enough to figure out how to best hurt people.”

“Yeah,” said Azi, troubled by remembering Michaela’s story about Crowley’s youth.

“Something wrong, angel?” asked Crowley.

“No,” said Azi, “just distracted.”

Crowley frowned.

The last thing Azi wanted to do was remind Crowley of the rumors Michaela had invented about her. Although she believed it was for a good cause this time, somewhere in the back of her mind Azi reflected that it was becoming disturbingly easier for her to hide things, even from Crowley. Maybe that was just a part of growing up. She fluidly changed the subject. “So what do we do next?” she asked. She grinned. “This is all your demonic work, after all.”

“Hey now,” Crowley protested mildly, but she looked pleased—“humanity brings this shit on themselves.” She chuckled. “Okay,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

Azi sat up a little, sea blue eyes sparkling.

“The worst thing we could do to Michaela,” said Crowley, “is break her up with the Angels.”

“How could we possibly make that happen?” asked Azi, looking at Crowley askance.

“Well, first of all,” said Crowley, “Lige LeDuc’s Halloween party is only a week away, and Michaela always makes a dramatic appearance in the skimpiest costume she can find.” Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “How much weight do you think she could pack on in a week?”

Azi _hmm_ ’ed. “If she keeps going the way she started when I saw her, it’s not farfetched to say she could realistically gain ten, maybe even as much as fourteen pounds.”

“I know it’s sick and sad,” said Crowley, “but they’re all so shallow that that could serve to speed up the process. Gabriela at least will be completely disgusted with her. And that coffin nail will hammer itself, she’ll torture herself with self-consciousness, without us so much as having to lift a finger. Then we can take a vacation from even having to think about these idiots.”

“Regardless of how plastic they may be,” said Azi, “looking a little bloated is not going to be enough to turn her friends against her. Obviously.”

 _“Obviously,”_ Crowley snarked back. “I wasn’t done yet.” Crowley narrowed her eyes like she was looking into the sun. “Candy corn,” she whispered theatrically. “That’s how it begins.”

“I’m sorry, what?” asked Azi.

“Candy corn,” Crowley repeated. “Just about every holiday, the Middle Ground student activities committee does some kind of fundraiser with themed candy. Right before Halloween, they do little baggies of candy corn.”

“Crowley,” said Azi, “nobody eats candy corn. Even I know that.”*

“The candy isn’t what matters,” said Crowley. “It’s all a popularity contest, just like everything else around here. Everyone sends them to their friends. But Michaela never buys anything for anyone, she just expects everyone to buy things for her.”

“What good does that do us then?” Azi wondered.

“Because this year,” said Crowley, “things are going to be a little different.”

Of course Sandy was the weak link. That was the best place to start hacking away at the integrity (for lack of a better word) of the Angels’ social structure.

Between Gabriela and Sandy, Sandy was by far the more sycophantic. Besides, not only would it have a lesser psychological effect to convince Gabriela that she was no longer safely lodged up Michaela’s ass, there was also no guarantee that Gabriela would even be capable of picking up on the subtle clues that Azi was about to lay down. Whether or not Sandy was any “smarter” than Gabriela was up for debate, but she was certainly more aware of internal politics. Her self-worth depended on it.

English was the one class where Azi sat next to Sandy. A smile flitted across Azi’s face as Astor slammed open the door to her class in a ridiculous Kermit the Frog Halloween costume, waving around a gallon-jug of Lipton iced tea in one hand and carrying a plastic jack-o’-lantern bucket in the other. “Trick or treat!” he shouted. As he burst into the room, Azi had to bury her face in her hands to repress any hysterics.

“Aye,” grumbled Mr. Shadwell, the teacher whose lesson had just been interrupted. “Make haste, boy, away an’ boil yer head.”

Kermit-Astor pranced about the room, dropping tiny orange and black baggies of candy corn on students’ desks. “Adam Young? Two for you.” Astor fished out a whole fistful of bags. “Glen Coco? Four for you, Glen Coco. You _go,_ Glen Coco!”

Astor’s histrionics were topnotch. He made a great show of pretending to search the room for Azi, looking over just about every other student but her. “Azzy Raphael. Do we have an Azzy Raphael here?”

Azi choked down her amusement. “It’s Azi,” she said.

“Oh, Azi, here you go,” said Astor, plunking a bag of candy corn on her desk. “One for you.”

Astor made to leave, and Sandy started coughing almost violently and stuck her finger in the air to grab his attention. “And-none-for-Sandy,” Astor said dismissively as he flounced away, “bye.”

Sandy stared at Azi, looking prepared to have a nervous breakdown over Azi receiving this sugary status symbol whilst Sandy had been so brutally ignored. “Who’s that from?” she managed to squeak.

Azi wiggled in her seat as she read the little card attached to the bag. “‘Thanks for being such a great friend. Love, Michaela.’ That’s so sweet!” she said.

Azi bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, while Sandy paled white as a pillar of salt.

You might be realizing by now, there was a fatal flaw with Crowley and Azi’s plan, which was this:

It is very difficult indeed to hang out with toxic people and not pick up toxic traits, and it is even harder to get revenge on someone without letting vengeance consume you. It’s too insidious of a thing.

Simply put, Azi was enjoying her life as of late far too much for all the wrong reasons. It was understandable. For the first time in her life, she was a popular high-schooler, when formerly she had barely even had a friend her own age. And now she had discovered that she was not half bad at manipulating and lying to peers she deemed deserving, and that just felt too much like power.

Crowley was only a teen, but even if she’d had the life experience she lacked to work out what might inevitably happen in this hateful scenario … Crowley was much too gone on Azi to anticipate her acting like anything other than a perfect angel.

Cracking Sandy had been a case of death by a thousand cuts. Getting under her skin had taken mere days. After the incident with the candy corn, Azi hadn’t even needed to push any more buttons on Sandy, because once Sandy believed Michaela was mad at her, Sandy’s brain just filled in the blanks wherever it could read that narrative into things.

“I know she sent candy out to everyone but me to make me look like a loser,” Sandy sobbed to Azi out back behind the school a couple days after the fact. “And then,” she ranted, “I texted her, and I asked if I had done anything to make her mad at me, and she just sent back, _‘no.’_ Like, not with an emoji and with a period and everything! What does that even mean??”

Azi tutted. “That’s some rather aggressive punctuation,” she encouraged.

“I know, right?!” Sandy shrieked. “And then she bumped into me at lunch when we went to sit down, and you just _know_ she did that on purpose, right??”

“Sounds like it,” Azi agreed.

Sandy wiped at her eyes. “I knew you’d understand,” she sniffed. “God, I don’t know why I thought you were a stupid bitch at first, you are such a good listener.”

“Uh, thanks?” said Azi.

“You don’t even know how mean she really is,” Sandy spewed. “Like, the whole reason I have to straighten my hair is because curls are _‘her’_ thing. And you would not _believe_ the shit she talks on Gabriela behind her back.”

Azi, who had been starting to feel a bit bored with this whole emotional display, straightened up immediately. “Oh?”

“Yeah, like that she’s dumb and a whore and everything, which, I mean, okay, yeah, so she is those things, but still,” Sandy rambled on. “Just ask Michaela sometime what she _really_ thinks of her, she’ll go off! But I always kept those things to myself, because …” Sandy burst into a flood of fresh tears and wailed— _“because I am such—a good_ — **friend!!”**

“Oh, my God, it was amazing,” said Azi. “She totally hates Michaela now. And I am so going to use what she told me about her and Gabriela. I cannot wait to—”

“Hey, wait,” Crowley said, “uh, look, that’s great. I’m impressed, really, gold star work.” Crowley rubbed the back of her neck. It was another night at Azi’s, which was fine, really, Crowley didn’t mind going over there, yet after days of Azi not texting Crowley back more than one word at a time, and not coming by the shack, either, it would appear that the only way Crowley was going to see Azi was by dropping in like this.

Azi looked irritated. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Crowley, her mouth drawn back in a frown on one side. “It just feels like this is all we ever talk about anymore.”

Azi blinked. “Okay,” she allowed, “what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley murmured, “I didn’t mean that I had anything in mind—”

“Okay, then why did you interrupt me?” Azi responded coldly.

Crowley’s head shot up. “Okay, maybe you’re starting to think from hanging out with these assholes all the time that it’s normal to be mean to your friends,” Crowley growled, “but it’s not. That’s over on the Angel side of the world, not _our own_ side.”

Azi felt her temperature rise. She wanted to snap. She wanted to say, _There is no ‘our side’;_ she wanted to say, _You’re the one who decided to come over here._ But she stopped herself. She took a deep breath instead. “Right,” she said, “I got carried away.”

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_ Azi thought. _Why am I so obsessed with these people now?_

Crowley offered her a weak smile. Azi hadn’t exactly apologized per se, but Crowley understood. “Hey, it’s all right,” she said. “Like you said, I always want to come to your rescue.” She inched a little closer to the bed where Azi sat, from her usual spot on the floor. “Even if it’s from yourself.”

Azi’s cheeks burned, and she felt a shy smile start to bloom on her lips. But then Crowley was practically sitting at Azi’s feet, gazing up at her with those luminous amber eyes, and a shot of panic ricocheted through her. Azi swallowed thickly and swung her legs up on the bed so she could sit cross-legged, and something in Crowley’s face hardened.

Crowley scooted back a foot. “Anyway,” she said, as if nothing charged had passed between them, “partly I came over because I wanted to let you know I have this art show coming up. And I _really_ want you to see it.”

“That sounds nice,” said Azi. “When is it?”

“It’s Saturday night,” said Crowley.

Azi’s eyes widened. “That’s Lige’s party!” she said.

Crowley stared, her mouth parted open. “Azi, we’ve more or less made our point with these skanks, at least for now anyway,” she said. “I think you can take one night off from your secret-squirreling. It’s not like you actually _want_ to party with people like that.”

Azi said nothing.

Crowley didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The author would like to go on the record as stating _(some archive warning probably applies for this sentence)_ that she fucking loves candy corn.
> 
>  **Scene inspo:** [Candy Cane Grams](https://youtu.be/nnjWmz4lB2U)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	8. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The venue that was showcasing young artists, Crowley included, didn’t close until 9 PM. Lige’s party started at 7. And the show was only twenty minutes from Lige’s place._
> 
> _What could possibly go wrong with going to both things?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Are you ready for the bandstand, the street scene, and Janis confronting Cady after the party _all rolled into one?_**
> 
> It's gonna be okay, I swear!! D:

The venue that was showcasing young artists, Crowley included, didn’t close until 9 PM. Lige’s party started at 7. And the show was only twenty minutes from Lige’s place.

What could possibly go wrong with going to both things?

Azi couldn’t imagine wanting to spend more than an hour at a big high school party anyway, or being there when it got late and loud. But it wasn’t fair of Crowley to expect her to skip it altogether, she reasoned. Azi had never been to a party of her peers before, and the Angels had invited themselves as they did with all things. Even if they hadn’t, though, Lige LeDuc’s Halloween party was a Middle Ground institution. Anyone who _didn’t_ attend would look like a loser.

Azi grimaced. Sometimes it felt as if Crowley and Astor went out of their way to make their own lives difficult. Would it really kill them to just hang around the right people sometimes?

Truth be told, Azi looked amazing. She hadn’t wanted to wear anything too costume-y, that would have made her feel too awkward being out in public and sneaking in at the end of Crowley’s exhibition. Besides, Crowley was liable to be upset if it were obvious Azi had stopped at the party. _What right does she have?_ Azi thought to herself. _She doesn’t own me, right?_

Azi was a curvaceous blonde who currently resided at an intersection of being decades behind on pop culture but also freshly beginning to grasp the newfangled inventions which were makeup and hair curlers (due in part to the Angels, and also to watching _The You-Tube_ on computers at school—you could find how to do anything on there!). She hadn’t needed more than a white dress with a plunging neckline, and a pair of white heels, to turn heads as she strode so confidently that it felt like she must be dreaming, up to Lige’s house.

“Wow,” said Lige, sounding flabbergasted when he swung open the door. He tried to think of something witty and intelligent to say. “Wow,” he said again.

Azi felt like her insides were buzzing. Her nerves had finally awakened to what was about to happen. This was real. She was walking in heels, wearing a _sexy_ dress, and she was about to go into a party of _cool people._

She could do it.

“Trisha Paytas?” Lige guessed. “But pretty,” he rushed to add.

Azi’s brow creased. “Marilyn Monroe,” she corrected him.

“Right, that was my next guess,” said Lige. He made a mental note to Google who that was later. Then he remembered that he was standing in a doorway. “Right, yeah, come on in,” he said, standing to one side for her.

Azi’s heart pounded. She had never seen so many people crammed together inside one house. _Surely this must constitute a fire hazard._ She shook herself of the idea. _Don’t be such a … a dork,_ she thought. Suddenly her anxiety was soaring to meet the volume of the music being inescapably blasted through every room.

“You look great,” Lige shouted above the heavy bass, as he ushered her through the lobby area to the living room.

“Who’s Nate?” she shouted back. But Lige had already started maneuvering through the crowd to get a drink for her.

“Hey, girl, hey!” said a giddy voice from behind. Azi turned to see Gabriela and Sandy clinging to each other, sloppy grins glued to both faces. Gabriela wore a cornflower blue sweater vest over a white button-up shirt, and a red plaid skirt with red knee socks. Sandy had on a black and white plaid skirt suit over a red cardigan and some hat that looked to Azi like a plastic bucket with a rosebud glued to it. Azi felt a touch irritated then; she had evidently missed the memo that it would have been all right for her to wear tartan or something like it this one night of the year. The party had only just begun, but Sandy and Gabriela were clearly wasted.

“You guys are already drunk?” said Azi. Even standing so close it was still a struggle to make herself heard. “When did that happen?”

 _“Preee-gaming,”_ they howled in unison.

 _Of course,_ thought Azi. It stood to reason that she wouldn’t even know what cool people did _before_ a party. Not that it mattered, she would be leaving in about an hour anyway and she was driving. As Azi attempted to work out in her head how long she could reasonably stay, Lige came back and held a red Solo cup out to her over Gabriela’s shoulder. “Oh, I can’t,” she called out to him, “I’m not staying long enough to drink.” _Plus I’ve never done it before,_ she thought to herself.

“It’s jungle juice,” said Lige, who definitely could not hear a damn thing. “It’s got Hawaiian Punch.”

“It’s just juice?” Azi shouted back. Gabriela and Sandy launched into hysterical laughter.

Lige looked confused. “It’s got juice,” he tried apprehensively.

“What else is in it?” Azi shouted over Gabriela.

“You said you need a minute?” said Lige.

“Minute Maid?” said Azi.

“Shit, I don’t know,” Lige yelled back. “Hawaiian Punch, Minute Maid, whatever was at the dollar store, probably.”

“That sounds tasty!” yelled Azi. She took the cup from his hands before Lige went off to socialize.

 _“All right, Azi!”_ shouted Gabriela encouragingly, holding up a Yuengling bottle. “Liquor before beer!”

“Straight for the jungle juice!” yelled Sandy, who was more than a little impressed, to be honest. “Didn’t take you for an everclear fan!”

“I _know_ them!” said Azi proudly. “‘Father of Mine’!” She’d been doing a little research on what was _hip_ these days. Good to see it was paying off.

“What?” asked Gabriela, looking more confused than usual.

“It’s classic rock,” said Sandy.

“Ohh,” said Gabriela. “You know what, Azi?” she shouted, actually sounding a bit fond. “I think it’s kind of cool in a weird way that you’re such a nerd!”

Azi glowed. “Thanks! What are you guys supposed to be, anyway?” she asked.

“We’re _Clueless!”_ said Sandy.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourselves!” said Azi.

“What’s up, losers?” called a fourth voice over the din. Three Angels shifted to make room for Michaela, although Azi distinctly noticed that the movement was not as urgent as it might have been in the past. Michaela was your basic Halloween “sexy cat”: stretchy black bodysuit, black leggings, headband with ears. It was the sort of one size fits all ensemble which, although perfectly suitable for a standard house party, was markedly unglamorous for the likes of Michaela Archangel.

“This is so good!” said Azi, about her drink, to no one in particular. She had already drank half of it down. “I’m going to have to ask Lige if he can give me the recipe.”

“What the hell, Michaela!” said Gabriela. “What happened to your yellow suit? Our costumes don’t make sense without it!”

“And I could have been Cher if I’d known you weren’t going to do it,” Sandy whined.

“Um, you are _not_ a Cher,” Gabriela scoffed.

Michaela made a face. “It … it wasn’t fitting right,” she said. She wasn’t quite allowing herself to appear embarrassed, but nor was she successfully giving the right amount of threatening aura to prevent further commentary.

Gabriela eyed Michaela’s midsection with a look something like genuine concern. “I mean,” she started, “neither does this, so does it really matter?”

 _“Excuse me?”_ Michaela growled.

“Oh, I know, it’s so loud in here, it’s hard to hear anything!” said Gabriela apologetically. She took a deep breath and then shouted: _“I SAID—YOUR COSTUME DOESN’T FIT.”_ Michaela stared, so Gabriela continued. _“IT’S BECAUSE YOU GAINED SO MUCH—”_

“I heard you the first time, you _idiot!!”_ Michaela shouted.

Azi was shocked next that it was Sandy who piped up, even if she did sound terrified doing it. “You know what, Michaela?” she squeaked. “I’m tired of the way you treat us! You can’t just call Gabriela an idiot and talk behind her back about how stupid she is all the time!”

“Yeah!” said Gabriela. “Wait, what?”

 _“What the hell do you think you’re doing.”_ Michaela appeared sizzling with rage.

“And who cares if Gabriela gave Beez Bell a blow job behind the bleachers when we were all supposed to be in the auditorium for last year’s pep rally??” Sandy shouted, ignoring whoever was taking it upon themself now to decrease the volume on the stereo system. “That’s, like, her body, her choice or something, you didn’t have to turn around and tell _everyone!”_

“Wait, _what?!”_ shouted Gabriela.

 _And there goes her other Angel,_ thought Azi. She drank another quarter of her cup, before she noticed Lige dramatically motioning for her to come join him at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby. Azi slipped away, leaving the Angels to fight amongst themselves and put on a show. As she slid into the crowd, Azi idly realized that she no longer felt uncomfortable with the sheer number of clambering bodies or the obnoxiously loud music. Maybe she could get used to this sort of thing. She also felt warmer than she had before, not unpleasantly so. She wondered if maybe she should check the time.

“Do you want to come upstairs with me?” Lige asked her.

“Oh, uh …” Azi looked uneasy.

“Not like that,” said Lige. “You just looked like you could stand to be pulled out of that mess.”

“Oh!” Azi laughed. “Yes, thank you. I’m going to grab more punch first.”

Lige shot a surprised glance down at Azi’s cup. “Shit,” he said, “I can’t believe you drank all that.”

“I guess I didn’t realize how thirsty I was,” said Azi.

“Here,” said Lige. He poured out half his cup of rum and cola into Azi’s. “Please stick with something weaker like this, I’d hate to see ya drink that punch all night and get real sick.”

Azi looked miffed. “I think I can handle a little sugar,” she said, as she followed Lige up the stairs.

Lige did a double take. “Damn, I had no idea you went so hard,” he said. Azi followed him into a bedroom, his bedroom, and he shut the door behind them. Lige jumped up on the bed and put his feet on the mattress. “You want me to find some coke for you?”

Azi peered into her cup. Ah, Pepsi then. “No,” she said, “this is fine for now.”

Azi sat on the bed next to Lige. “Thanks for bringing me up here,” she said. “I didn’t even realize that the music was still bothering me, but now that I’m someplace quiet, it’s nice.”

“Yeah, you seem like a real quiet type,” said Lige. “S’another reason I thought you might want to get away for a second. Seemed like a good time what with those three goin’ at it. And, uh …” Lige paused. “I swear I wasn’t gonna try to disrespect you or nothing. I know you’re, ah, not interested. I really do just think you seem cool.”

Azi chuckled. “You are probably the only person on the planet to ever say that,” she said. Azi looked back into her cup. “Huh,” she said, “did I give you some of my drink?”

Lige laughed. “I didn’t know you were funny, ‘top of everything else.” He went to take the empty cup out of Azi’s hand to set it to the side. Their fingers brushed as he did, innocently enough but impossible to miss.

“Like what?” asked Azi curiously.

“What?”

“You said I’m funny, ‘on top of everything else,’” said Azi. “But you don’t know me. So how did you mean that?”

Lige swallowed hard. “Uh,” he said, “well, you know.” He looked away. “You know you’re beautiful,” he said nervously.

Azi watched silently as Lige shifted on the bed, her expression intense. She felt so good. Everything felt good, and warm, and more loosened up than she’d ever been.

She could fix her reputation _right now,_ she realized.

Would it really be so wrong just to kiss him? It would make him happy … and people at the party would inevitably find out, and then, well—Michaela would look like a homophobic liar.

Lige was looking at her, clearly having felt a change in the room, maybe not knowing what it meant but searching Azi’s face for clues. He edged toward her on the bed. When she didn’t squirm away, he leaned in, and their faces were so close now.

 _What you’re seriously considering doing would be taking advantage of someone who likes you,_ she thought at herself in horror, _**all to deflect a rumor that you took advantage of someone.**_

__

__

_Is this who you want to be?_

“What the hell am I doing?” Azi asked aloud, instantly disgusted with herself.

“What?” asked Lige, completely at a loss to what was happening.

Azi looked back at Lige’s face. He was actually handsome enough, his golden hazel eyes so striking against the cooler tones of his dark skin, standing out like pieces of …

 _Amber,_ Azi’s brain supplied helpfully.

 _“What fucking time is it?!”_ Azi shrieked.

The door flew open. Of course it was Michaela. Of course it was. A very blotchy Michaela, she’d obviously been weeping. “Lige, I need you— What the fuck are you doing?!” she screamed.

Lige stood up, putting his palms forward in a placating gesture. “Babe,” he said, “you’re crying! What—”

Azi flung Michaela aside and raced down the steps. She didn’t have time to get drawn into a fight right now. She ran outside onto Lige’s lawn.

It was 9:45.

Azi didn’t stop running until she reached the side of her white diesel Rabbit parked almost to the corner. _Shit shit shit!_ she thought. _What do I do, can I drive? What should I do??_

Azi barely even reacted when a black Jeep Wrangler came squealing around the corner, practically driving up onto the curb in front of her. She should have seen it coming, it made perfect sense with the night that she was having, this could be its only conclusion.

She would have known that flaming, wobbling deathtrap of a hell machine anywhere. All she had left in her to do now was stand there and cry and wait for what happens next.

“Unbelievable,” Crowley snarled, jumping down from the driver’s seat. Although it was nighttime, she wore her sunglasses.

“I’m sorry!” Azi wailed. “I can explain!”

“Explain what?” asked Crowley. “Explain how you promised to do _one_ thing for me, something _really_ important to me, and ‘accidentally’ got wasted at a party instead?”

“I had to stop here,” Azi hiccuped through her tears, “I had to pretend to be one of them—”

“Oh, you’re not pretending, sweetheart!” said Crowley. “You really do want to be one of them! You’re so scared of the thought of them casting you down, as if anyone worthy of being in your life would ever just throw you to the fire like that …”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Azi cried. “I’m not like you, I _care_ what people think about me!”

“Did you have an _awesome_ time?” Crowley went on, her tone turned nasty. “Did you drink awesome shooters and listen to awesome music, and just sit around and soak up each other’s awesomeness?”

“This all started because of you!” Azi shouted. “You’re the one who wanted me to hang out with these people!”

“That’s a bit holier-than-thou, isn’t it??” said Crowley. “At least I know that I’m an unforgivable bastard, you try to act like you’re so innocent!”

“You were an Angel once,” Azi sobbed. “You could come back, you could be friends with all of us—”

“That was a long time ago,” Crowley hissed, “and you know what? I wouldn’t go back to those people even if I could!” Crowley turned as if to leave, then made a terrible tortured sound as she spun back around. _“Get in the car!”_ she ordered.

“What? No!”

“This is ridiculous,” Crowley said, “you are ridiculous. You’re more blitzed than 1941 London right now. Get in the fucking car so I can drive you home!”

“Don’t always come to my rescue just so you can throw it in my face later!”

 _“Then stop doing STUPID THINGS so I need to rescue you!”_ Crowley yelled back.

 _“I never asked you to!”_ Azi was drunk, and angry, and she didn’t even know who she was lashing out at anymore—if it was Crowley, or herself.

Crowley pulled on her own hair, seeming to reel something back in. “You’re so clever,” Crowley forced out, her mouth an angular quaking line. “How can somebody as clever as you be stupid enough to think that I’m going to let you drive home??”

Azi let out a tearful gasp, then went around to climb up inside Crowley’s Jeep.

The drive was silent.

“Crowley, please—”

 _“No,”_ said Crowley. “You don’t get to do that right now.”

After another long stretch of dead air, Crowley said, “Text me when you get up. I’ll send an Uber so you can get your car.”

“Crowley, you don’t have to—”

 _“Stop,”_ Crowley spat.

Azi wasn’t sure if she properly understood what Crowley meant only saying things like no and stop, so she said nothing.

Crowley pulled up in front of Azi’s house and parked. She reached into the backseat for something, and Azi’s heart fluttered at Crowley’s hand on the seat by her head while Crowley steadied herself. “Here,” she said, unceremoniously tossing a brown cardboard tube onto Azi’s lap. “Just take it. It won a prize, I don’t care.”

Azi removed the cap from one end of the tube and looked inside. It contained a rolled-up painting. “This is—”

“Yours,” said Crowley coldly. “It’s always been yours, since the first time I laid eyes on you. But I was stupid enough to think that maybe just for once in my damned life something good might be _mine,_ too. I was the idiot who believed you could ever possibly want something to be _ours.”_

Crowley was gritting her teeth as though that might stop her lip from quivering, and Azi finally understood why she would wear sunglasses in the dark. “Crowley, I—”

 _“Don’t,”_ Crowley choked out.

Azi gently slid down out of the passenger side of Crowley’s Jeep, the cardboard tube tenderly held in her hand, and watched as Crowley drove away. She didn’t dare look at Crowley’s painting until the vehicle was well out of view. She unrolled it then, and her mouth fell open at the beauty of it.

A pristine angel of white light, with Art Nouveau mermaid curls, undeniably familiar and ironically clad almost as Azi was tonight, sat on a star amidst the Milky Way’s hazy flaming indigos and golds. Around her shoulders, much as a woman might wear a mink stole, nestled a majestic jewel-scaled black snake.

She’d signed and titled the back of it: _A. J. Crowley, ’20. “Meet Me in the Middle.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** [You're Plastic](https://youtu.be/sT8wMBeVffk)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	9. Framed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michaela is not about to let Azi get away with almost kissing Lige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[AceMoppet wrote an "inspired by" fic of Crowley's POV after chapter 8 takes place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992877)!!** Check out her stuff!
> 
> Special thanks to all the AO3 authors and readers/Throat Spackling 101 Discord server members who let me use their usernames for Middle Ground students' Tumblr pages: [Tamaradactyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamaradactyl), [BRNZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRNZ), [redundant_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redundant_angel), and [AceMoppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet)!

Despite what Crowley may have thought, Michaela Archangel had not had an “awesome” night.

She had not had a very awesome day, either, when she’d tried on her Halloween costume of a yellow skirt suit and discovered that her waist was all lumps under the sweater vest. (That was not necessarily true, nor did it presuppose that she looked bad, but Michaela did not exactly possess an open view on beauty standards.) It had forced her to run to Target before the party— _Target!_ Can you _imagine?_ —to throw something together she prayed was more slimming.

Later, after Sandy had announced for Gabriela to hear that Michaela frequently talked about Gabriela behind her back, things had predictably only continued to roll downhill. At least, things had gone downhill in Michaela’s opinion; her classmates had found it pretty great. The hand slap on Michaela’s face had lasted until dawn.

Sandy, meanwhile, had learned that it really is possible to be lifted up off the ground by one’s ponytail.

Furthermore, as though to add insult to injury, it had been _Gabriela_ of all people, the bimbo, to say, after hearing Michaela called her stupid: _“You’re the one scarfing down all those gross ‘Matter’ bars that have been making you gain weight at a rate of one and one-third pounds per day!”_

Michaela and Sandy had simply stared.

“You’re too stupid to realize that you started bulking up around the same time you started eating them!” Gabriela had shouted, motioning dramatically up and down at Michaela’s belly. “I first saw you eating them on October 21st, and it’s ten days later, and it’s _so_ obvious just looking at you that you’ve gained approximately 13 point three repeating pounds!”

None of the three had spoken for a moment. “How the fuck can you tell that?” Michaela had murmured, softly, but with a lot of feeling.

“Gabe,” Sandy had said slowly, “since when are you _any_ good at math?”

Gabriela had furrowed her brow. “What math?”

All of that, and then? Michaela had walked in on _her_ Lige spending private time with Azi, in his room, where Michaela had lost half her virginity! And it had looked like he was about to kiss her. It had looked like she was about to let him.

What was that all about?

More importantly, who the fuck did Azi think she was?

She would not get away with this.

As Azi had fled the scene, Lige had tried to comfort Michaela, asking what had happened to her and what could he do to help, but by the time Azi had slammed Lige’s front door Michaela had already been pushing and punching her way through the crowds toward the back porch where she’d been parked. Michaela had sat down hard on the driver’s seat of her Lexus, and she had let out an eardrum-piercing scream, and for two full terrifying minutes … nobody at the party could even make out the words to “Old Town Road.”

Azi had been right: Michaela was sharp, and never to be underestimated.

When Michaela returned to school that following Monday, she had one thing in mind, and that was to get revenge on Azi Raphael. Possibly she might teach Sandy and Gabriela a lesson, too, but she had not decided yet. Michaela was a shrewd opportunist. She believed that she was right, and so she believed that things would fall into place for her; it was merely a matter of being in the right place at the right time and recognizing it well enough to seize it.

Apparently the mean girl gods were smiling on Michaela today, because, man—had she walked in on the right time and place.

It went without saying that Azi was barely computer literate. To be fair, though, it was the kind of mistake anyone could make once in a while, regardless of how much time they spent online. It was innocent enough when Michaela sat down at a computer in the school library to waste a study hall period. It wasn’t like she knew that the last person to use that particular PC had been Azi. Michaela’s jaw dropped when she saw what was before her after she shook off the screensaver. It felt like clouds were parting above her for heaven’s own light to shine their blessing. Azi had finally learned how to check her student email.

Too bad nobody told her that closing the application didn’t automatically log you out.

Michaela was no hacker. This never could have happened without easy access to Azi’s official school email address. But that single misstep, combined with Michaela’s ability to think fast on her feet, made Michaela’s next moves laughably obvious.

The reader already has some idea of where this is headed, but let’s take a stroll through it anyway.

The first step was to make a Tumblr account for Azi. As just about anyone under the age of 99 knows _(unless they grew up in a van),_ in this day and age few things are easier than setting up any standard social media. But it was imperative that the account be tied to Azi’s school email, and if you have not deduced why yet, be patient. We will get to that a little later.

Michaela clicked over to “Azi”’s new Tumblr settings. There it was, at the top of the page, under “Account”: Azi’s student email. Michaela switched the setting to allow for other Tumblr users to find Azi’s blog by searching for her address. Michaela logged out, then logged back in as herself.

As Michaela added Azi as a member to the Burn Book, Michaela mentally gave a little prayer of thanks that her back was to the wall in the library. She reopened the school email client so that Azi could accept the blog invite. _I’m about to end this fugly slut’s whole career,_ Michaela thought, _and it’s going to take less than twenty minutes._ Michaela smiled as she went back to the Burn Book dashboard and promoted Azi to a blog administrator.

Michaela considered her screen for a moment. None of the other Angels had their own blogs set to be discoverable by email address, and even if they had, all had logically used throwaway Gmail accounts. Still, she supposed she could remove them, wash their hands of everything, too, better safe than sorry and all that, only out of principle for their years of friendship.

_Fuck them,_ she thought.

Michaela went back and forth between the blogs as needed. Every now and then she would type something. She briefly frowned before doing what she last realized she had to do. “You were a good blog,” she muttered sentimentally. Finally, she logged in to her own personal pink aesthetic Tumblr, and before she logged out of it for the time being, Michaela clicked the Burn Book’s link to “Leave this blog.”

“I can’t believe she would do this,” Michaela keened, bordering on hysterics in Principal Tracy’s office. The tissue she clutched in both shaking hands was moistened and torn to pieces. She might have been aiming for an Academy Award. “It’s so mean, Ms. Tracy,” she sobbed.

Ms. Tracy sat back in her seat, rubbing her temples. “Michaela,” she said gently, “you know we’ve been having a problem with this page for a couple years. Azi is a new student here.”

“You don’t understand, Ms. Tracy,” Michaela said tearfully. “You can add people to these things whenever.”

Ms. Tracy sighed. “Even so, there’s not much I can do at this juncture. I’ve had so many young people, especially young ladies, try to point fingers at each other, saying so-and-so is posting about them on the internet … I empathize with your being bullied, I truly do, but—”

_“I can’t believe she would do this to me,”_ Michaela wailed. “Azi Raphael is supposed to be— _my—FRIEENNDD …”_ Michaela started bawling fresh.

Ms. Tracy glanced out the window awkwardly, then handed Michaela a fresh Kleenex. “I’m so sorry, Michaela,” she said. “I assure you I will speak with Miss Azi and see what I can find, but right now this is all hearsay. That it is not to say that you would ever make something like this up,” she added quickly. “But I cannot treat another student as automatically guilty of something, either.”

Michaela sniffled noisily. “It’s under her email,” she said. “I can show you, that’s how I found it.”

Ms. Tracy made a considering sound, then pursed her lips. “What made you think to look her up on there?”

Michaela froze for a second. Her eyes tracked down to the massive crystal ball on Ms. Tracy’s desk, and she was just about to say something about women’s intuition and tides and the moon still being mostly full before a better answer struck her. “I thought I saw it open on her phone,” she said. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I had to look for myself.”

“I’ll look into it,” Ms. Tracy assured her. “Unfortunately it’s so easy to make a personal email address that I don’t know how much I’ll be able to do at first but I’ll talk to I.T.—”

“But that’s just it, Ms. Tracy,” said Michaela, sitting up seriously and dabbing at her eyes. “You can’t fake an official school email.”

* * *

**[angel-azi-raphael](http://angel-azi-raphael.tumblr.com)**

Sup skanks, we know it’s been a minute since we posted on the Burn Book, shit got really busy with school for a while. We actually added some new people to the blog which should make things better for getting more posts out. You know you’re entertained whether you admit it or not.

Anyway let me be the one to say congratulations to Michaela A, never thought I’d see the day we’d find anything to say about Little Miss Perfect to roast her here but now that she’s looking like a roasted pig lately it’s only fair to start burning her!

See you losers at the game tonight. Go, Horsemen!

~Mod A

**its-maradactyl**

OH MY GOD YOU GUYS

**br-nz**

lmaoooo she forgot to switch accounts!!!

**bluefroggy84**

SHE TRIED DELETING IT LOL TOO LATE

side note when are we gonna change that mascot to be more inclusive would it really be so hard to start saying horsepersons

**[siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)**

Wow, somebody’s bitter that she couldn’t “turn” Michaela Archangel into a lesbian. (Thanks for that btw this is so not the representation we needed at this hell school)

**acemoppet**

_boost boost boost boooooooooooooooot_

__

__

_#BOOST #middle ground high school #middle ground horsemen #the fucking middle ground BURN BOOK #you know the discord is jumping rn #what a RuVeal #azi raphael #aka van girl #aka this dumbass #delicious drama #get the popcorn #too good to be queued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene inspo:** [School Riot](https://youtu.be/mpP_UkzHY9w)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	10. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astor helps Azi, but he can only help her with so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no real _Mean Girls_ scene inspiration for this chapter. There's definitely more MG coming, but there will also be more and more divergences for the sake of our ineffable sweethearts' romance :)
> 
> This chapter refers to past self-injury.

In the end it was Astor who showed Azi how to claim control of the fake Burn Book post made in her name, simply by resetting the password through her email. Michaela couldn’t change Azi’s school email password without an administrator, and why bother? The post did all the damage it needed within the first few hours of its existence. If anything, Azi scrambling to delete it simply lent verisimilitude to the whole thing.

Before Astor helped her, though, Azi had gotten a text from Crowley.

**1  
message  
received.**

****

****

**Read**

**Message can’t be received.**

Azi stared at her phone in confusion. Only about twenty seconds passed before the mobile in her hand went off again.

_Doot doot doot doot._

**[1](https://youtu.be/YBOsBY1djr4?t=771)  
message  
received.**

****

****

**Read**

**Message can’t be received.**

Azi was bewildered. Finally, she received a third message, which opened for her, and her stomach lurched when she saw that it was from Crowley.

 **Message:** Did you open it??

Azi started to type, very slowly.

**> What did you try to send me? It wouldn’t allow me to open it.**

**Message:** A screenshot  
**Message:** What do you mean you couldn’t open it  
**Message:** Just tap it

**> I really don’t understand. Can we please talk?**

**Message:** I’m not playing this game with you rn  
**Message:** Should say I’m not letting YOU play this game with ME  
**Message:** I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you  
**Message:** Idk why I care so much  
**Message:** Bc I’m a gay disaster  
**Message:** PLEASE open the screenshot  
**Message:** Your new bffs are out here trying to ruin your life

**> How are you messaging so fast?!**

**Message:** Texting  
**Message:** It’s called texting

**> Well I can’t open anything. When I select read and press the button there’s nothing there.**

**Message:** What button  
**Message:** Wtf  
**Message:** What kind of phone do you have???

**> A blue one. A teacher gave it to me out of the desk when I told him I didn’t have one.  
> It’s very nice, I’ve never even had to recharge it yet.**

Several minutes passed, and Azi feared Crowley would not contact her again. Relief washed over her with the next message.

_Doot doot doot doot._

**Message:** Call Astor.

There was a phone number after that. Azi panicked, trying desperately to think of anything to say to keep Crowley talking to her.

**> Can I just call you? I miss you so very much.**

Azi waited. And waited. She texted again.

**> I want to thank you properly for the painting. It’s so beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t understand sooner.**

Silence.

“Thank you so much for helping me delete this whole mess,” Azi said to Astor shakily, sitting at a school library computer beside him.

Astor gave an apathetic half-shrug, his frown taut across his face. Without a word, he started to get up to leave.

 _“Please!”_ Azi said in a rush, barely restraining herself from grabbing a hold on his sleeve. “Please, Astor,” she pleaded, “please keep sitting with me.” Astor remained standing with his back to her, but he made no move to walk away. “Astor,” she said miserably, “I just need someone to be nice to me today. _Please.”_

__

__

_“Fucking bitch,”_ a girl passing behind Azi hissed under her breath. “How’s it feel?” She didn’t actually wait for a reply, just continued on her way toward the aisles of books beyond the computers.

Astor didn’t make a sound, but Azi saw his shoulders heave in a subtle sigh before he turned back around and sat in the same seat. An awkward silence hung between them. Then, Astor said, “You know, you really hurt her.”

Azi felt tears springing in her eyes. “How can I fix it?”

Astor’s expression hardened even more. “I’m not helping you to hurt her again.”

“The _last_ thing I want is to ever hurt her again,” Azi insisted, biting her lip. Her voice was small and broken. “I know I fucked up.”

Astor seemed surprised to hear Azi talk like that, and it wasn’t her usual language. He appeared deep in thought, and he wasn’t looking at her anymore. After a moment, Astor asked, “Did you know she used to be friends with Michaela Archangel?”

Azi blinked at the apparent non sequitur. “I only heard Michaela’s side of the story,” she admitted. “I know it can’t possibly be the truth,” she added quickly.

Astor scoffed. “That bullshit animal sacrifice story?”

Azi nodded.

“Crowley would _never_ hurt an animal. She loved that snake,” said Astor. “You know that’s how she and I became friends as kids? Because I had frogs. Well, frogs are amphibians,” Astor clarified, sounding like this distinction was of the utmost importance, “not the same thing, but, you know—we both liked things other kids thought were gross.”

Nodding encouragingly, Azi chanced a careful smile at what seemed like maybe Astor was opening up to her.

“She named it Crawly,” he said with a laugh. “Crowley, Crawly—like it was her kid, or a little mini her.” He smiled fondly. “Anyway,” Astor continued, “we got really close, and then we figured out we were gay together, like we knew it around the same time and nobody knew but us. So,” he paused, “that made us even closer, obviously. If we’d been a little older we probably might have pretended to be a couple or somethin’, but we were so young that no one even suspected.”

Astor started playing with clicking the mouse next to where his hand had been. “But I guess Michaela thought we were boyfriend-girlfriend or something, she was one of those cool girls, always liked shopping and boys and stuff before everyone else. You know, like me,” Astor joked, and Azi was grateful for the tender spark of friendliness. “So first she was jealous because Crowley had a ‘boyfriend’ and she didn’t, and then Crowley was splitting her time between hanging out with their stupid friend cult and me, and she was mad about that, having less of her time …”

“So, Michaela made up all that stuff about witchcraft and ouija boards?” Azi asked.

“What?” Astor puzzled. “Oh. No, that was true—she’s a lesbian, she had her Wiccan phase.” Astor grinned cheekily, then he became serious again. “That’s just what they latched onto, though,” he explained. “It was a lot of little things they bullied her about, and … all those little things just kept getting bigger.”

Azi felt like her heart was breaking. She was remembering some of the details Michaela had told her. _Crowley couldn’t have been older than eleven,_ Azi thought. _She was just a little girl …_ Azi swallowed thickly, then heard herself asking something she wasn’t sure she should be asking. Her voice was barely a whisper: “Did she really try to hurt herself?”

Astor stared quietly at the computer screen in front of him for so long that Azi thought he maybe hadn’t heard her. She was about to change the subject, then he said, “Yeah.” Astor paused. “She didn’t _‘try’_ to hurt herself—she _hurt_ herself.”

“What hap—”

“I really don’t think it’s my business to tell you,” Astor interrupted her abruptly. “Not so sure it’s your business asking right now, either,” he said, but his tone held no malice. Eventually, he said, “I’ll tell you this much, though: Crowley was hurting herself for a while. And I thought being a good friend meant keeping my mouth shut when she asked me to.” He paused again. “I wasn’t a good friend. A good friend might have stopped it from going as far as it did.”

“You were only a kid,” Azi said gently.

“Well, anyway, I’m not one now,” said Astor. “I like you, Azi. I think you mean well. But I can’t help you fix what you did to Crowley.” Astor shook his head. “I didn’t protect her from hurting herself back then,” he said, “but maybe I can protect her from hurting herself with you.”

Azi’s jaw dropped. “Astor,” she choked, “you have to believe me, I only want the chance to make it up to her! I think I—”

“Azi Raphael?” It was the library monitor.

Azi jumped in her seat; she hadn’t been expecting anyone to address her from behind her back like that. “Yes,” she muttered, still reeling from the last thing Astor said, “that’s me.”

“Principal’s office,” said the monitor. “Take your things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you find the Easter egg in this chapter?
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	11. Taking the Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azi receives her punishment after being framed for the Burn Book.

“In here, Miss Raphael,” Principal Tracy called Azi out of the hallway where she had been waiting in one of the busted chairs outside her office.

“What’s going on?” Azi asked uneasily, as she took a seat across from her.

Principal Tracy let out a lengthy sigh, then turned her monitor for Azi to see. Azi’s heart nearly broke out of her chest as she sighted a screenshot of the Burn Book post that Michaela had made in her name.

“That’s not mine,” said Azi quickly. “You can go to that page right now, you’ll see that the post is gone …”

“Well, I would expect it is,” said Principal Tracy, not unkindly. “It would be very foolish for someone to leave such a thing up once they realized their mistake.” She regarded Azi for a moment, her expression hard to read.

“But you can’t even prove that that’s real,” said Azi, “there’s a thing they do with photos in a shop—” _No, no,_ thought Azi, _that’s a terrible thing to say, you_ know _that was really online, now you look like a liar …_ Azi was too anxious for her mind to keep up with her mouth.

Ms. Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “First it’s gone, now it isn’t real? You better get your story straight, Miss Raphael.”

“I mean, it’s real, but it isn’t mine, Michaela Archangel wrote that!” Azi begged to be believed.

“Miss Raphael,” said Ms. Tracy sadly, “the account was already traced to your student email. And besides,” she peered closely at the screen to read, “why would Michaela Archangel refer to herself as a— _‘roasted pig’?”_

In spite of her nerves, or possibly because of them, Azi wanted to laugh. She successfully quashed the self-traitorous instinct. “She was trying to make it look like I wrote it,” she whispered helplessly. _You’re not getting out of this,_ she thought to herself. “Ms. Tracy, it wasn’t me.”

Ms. Tracy sat back in her seat, staring at her screen. She was shaking her head slowly in disappointed disbelief. “I really wish I could believe that, Azi,” she said. She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. “I know this year has to have been an incredibly difficult adjustment for you, and I know how easy it is to get swept up in the wrong crowd.” She paused meaningfully. “I know you didn’t do this alone. Azi, you are going to be punished for this, but maybe I can meet you in the middle if you tell me who else was involved.”

Azi flinched at Ms. Tracy’s choice of phrase, thinking of Crowley’s painting.

She could. She could tell her about Gabriela and Sandy, she could probably even come up with a way to prove it.

But that wasn’t who she wanted to be. Not anymore.

Azi’s eyes had been locked on her hands in her lap, but she raised them to meet Principal Tracy’s now. “I’m sorry, Ms. Tracy,” she said at last, “but I can’t do that.”

Principal Tracy held Azi’s eyes for a few seconds, then gave a curt nod, and Azi got the confusing impression that perhaps, in some small way, Ms. Tracy was proud of her. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Miss Raphael: I am giving you four weeks’ in-school suspension. This will go on your permanent record.”

Azi opened her mouth to say she was pretty sure permanent records were a myth, but wisely stopped herself.

“If you are tardy one day of ISS,” Ms. Tracy continued, “even if only by a few minutes, another day of ISS will be added to your punishment. The cubicles are isolated, so there’s no talking to your neighbor. Lunch is served in your cube.”

 _That doesn’t sound too terrible,_ Azi thought. _I can work ahead and read a little—_

“You will only complete the assignments administered in ISS for that day and then pencils will be collected, and no outside literature is allowed.”

“What?!” Azi said, panic suddenly rising.

“I’m sorry, Miss Raphael,” said Principal Tracy with a frown, “but we will not tolerate bullying here.”

Azi bit her lip. “I understand, Ms. Tracy,” she said.

“Good,” she said. “And there’s one more thing.”

Azi could not believe that she was being made to apologize to an assembly of her peers. She thought this may just be the most horrifying day of her life on earth. She wondered, if she had understood just how seriously Principal Tracy considered the Burn Book, if she still would have taken all the blame. She was somewhat ashamed to admit to herself that she was not sure what she might have done differently.

As she walked up the aisle to the stage in the school auditorium, she got the distinct feeling one gets from walking up to people and realizing they were just talking about you—only it was that feeling sixty times in a row. Surprisingly, not many people said anything as she passed them. Perhaps they knew she had volunteered to take on all the blame and they respected that, or maybe they just didn’t want to get caught making any rude remarks.

As Principal Tracy explained the purpose of the assembly, Azi heard her as if she were an adult in a _Charlie Brown_ cartoon. Her blood was pounding in her ears.

Then Azi took the microphone, and the audience was eerily quiet.

“Uh,” Azi tried, “right. Um …”

Principal Tracy had told her she only needed to say a few words, but her mind was a blank. She scanned the body of students desperately for a friendlier face, and that was when she saw them: Crowley and Astor were in the center back row. Crowley had her feet up on the back of the chair in front of her, much to some poor freshman’s chagrin.

Azi trained her eyes on Crowley, feeling like she could borrow strength from that radiating source. And although she was wearing her sunglasses, Azi could have sworn that Crowley was looking right back into her eyes as well.

“To all the people whose feelings got hurt by the Burn Book,” said Azi, “I’m really sorry.” She paused, fighting with herself to tremble less. “You know,” she said, “I’ve never been to a public school before, and there are so many things about coming here that I wish I could go back and change. But I can’t erase the problems I caused—all I can do in life is try to solve the problem in front of me now.”

And although she was so far away from where she stood, Azi could have sworn she could make out Crowley raise an eyebrow.

“Nothing on that page should have ever been posted online,” Azi said truthfully. “Nothing posted on it could have ever benefited anyone. Because calling somebody fat won’t make you any skinnier. Calling someone stupid doesn’t make you any smarter.” Azi took a deep breath. “I know there are people here who I specifically owe an apology,” she said, “and—I don’t know if they’d ever let me speak to them again one-on-one, but I don’t know if they’d want me to put it out there in front of everyone like this, either.” Azi thought her heart must have never pounded against her ribcage so hard in her entire life.

Crowley dropped her feet and leaned forward, draping her arms over the backrest and effectively pressing the unfortunate young man’s chest down to his knees in front of her.

“I was so unfair to someone. And all I want to do is tell that person … I should have realized how wonderful _our own side_ was, instead of always looking over my shoulder for something else. When that person tried to tell me things so loudly without words, I should have listened—even if I wouldn’t have understood their language 100-percent of the time, I could have at least made an effort. And I never should have allowed fear, and fear of my own feelings, to rule over my interactions with them. And I’m _so_ sorry.” Azi rubbed the wetness from her eyes. “I’m sorry, everyone. I learned so many things the hard way this year, and I hope I can make up my mistakes to people moving forward, and that I can just continue to grow as a person, and grow better.”

Azi stood awkwardly, then replaced the mic, feedback squealing for a second, and started to walk offstage. Someone coughed. No one booed, or clapped. There was no dramatic teen movie moment.

Until—

“Okay, yeah. I’ve got something to say, too,” rang a clear voice from the back of the auditorium.

 _Oh, no,_ Azi thought, as she froze.

“So, I have this friend who is a new student this year,” Crowley continued to speak, and Azi thought (imagined?) she could hear tears in her voice. Just about every student twisted around in their seat to see. “And I convinced her to do … a lot of messed-up things. And she wasn’t like that before I tempted her, she was—well—I thought she was an angel,” Crowley said, with a disgusted snarl.

 _Oh, God,_ Azi thought, _where is she going with this?_

“But she’s _not,”_ Crowley informed the audience. “And maybe it’s better I know that now. None of us are heaven, or hell, incarnate, yeah? We’re all just human. But I’ll tell you what else she is,” Crowley continued, her face bitter. **“She’s a damn liar.”**

 _Please, no, Crowley,_ Azi prayed, _anyone else can hurt me, tell me they hate me, but not you, never you, I could not live with it …_

“Azi Raphael is _not_ sorry about that Burn Book,” Crowley announced. “She’s not sorry, because she never had anything to do with it. Nobody did—it was all me, right from the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of muddled MG scene inspiration here: There are elements of Cady's inner monologue at the mathletes championship, her spring fling acceptance speech, and Janis's gymnasium speech ... and plenty of GO references and puns throughout, obviously :)
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	12. Reaching the Limit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley knows a thing or two about demonic work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think Crowley wouldn't have more to say? :)
> 
> The jokes in this chapter are a little darker; it's more of a Crowley POV chapter.
> 
> **We are really, truly almost done with this fic!!**

“She’s not sorry,” Crowley proclaimed, “because she never had anything to do with it.”

 _Crowley,_ thought Azi, _what the hell are you doing?_

“It was all me,” Crowley finished, “right from the beginning.”

Astor groaned then by Crowley’s side, dropping his head in his hands and shaking it back and forth. “Crowley,” he said, muffled too much to be heard, “Heath Ledger did not die on the cross for you to act like you’re in _10 Things I Hate About You.”_

The students who had turned to see what Crowley was about to do, which meant nearly all of them, spun around to look expectantly to Principal Tracy. Finally, some good fucking food in the way of entertainment. Ms. Tracy stopped Azi from leaving with a halting gesture, then herded her slightly more upstage. Ms. Tracy pursed her lips, and leaned in to the microphone again. “Come on up, Miss Crowley,” she said in a tired voice.

Crowley did not appear half as shy as Azi as she almost skipped up the aisle. She walked onstage and reached for the mic, and Principal Tracy grabbed the stand and leaned it away from her before Crowley could do any damage. “That’s quite all right, Miss Crowley,” she said indulgently, “I just wanted you up here so you can come with us.” She pointed to her own eyes in order to indicate Crowley’s, and she held her hand out. “And take those sunglasses off indoors, dear.”

Crowley rolled her head back melodramatically, but she was grinning. Not many students had had the opportunity over the years to form such sincere rapport with the head disciplinarian as Crowley. She dropped her sunglasses in the open palm, and knew she’d get them back later.

“Now,” said Principal Tracy to the audience, “if no one else has any ‘I am Spartacus’ speeches to give today, we can start dismissing you back to class.”

Gabriela perked up in her seat at that, and it seemed she was considering it if the only other option was to go back to class, but Sandy pressed her shoulder down. They were sitting in the front row stage left of Crowley, so to the right of her from their direction. Gabriela sat in the middle with Michaela on her left, so it appeared they were all in the process of making up.

Unnoticed by Principal Tracy, Crowley had managed to inch closer to the mic just enough to be picked up and heard better by the first couple rows. “I wasn’t trying to give a speech, Principal Tracy,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “I just wanted to apologize. I’m apologizing here.” She sneered pointedly at Michaela in the front row. “That website was poisonous,” she said, directly at the three, “and when you get bit by a snake, you’re supposed to suck the poison out …”

Crowley realized her choice of words too late. It had just come up, like word vomit, leaving her to regret it after the fact.

Michaela smiled serenely right back into Crowley’s eyes. “I guess she would know,” she said coolly to the students surrounding her, who snickered at what she said next: “You’re bound to get bit by something when you’re hacking the poor thing to death.”

Three things happened.

First, Toni Crowley, eyes and soul bared, felt herself begin to cry.

Second, a vital piece of information clicked into place in Crowley’s brain, and she could not for the life of her believe she had not figured out the fact sooner. Principal Tracy missing the forest for the trees—sure, that was one thing, but Crowley, a self-proclaimed queen of pranks? It was, after all, the exact sort of thing she would have accounted for in sowing her own special brand of demonic chaos.

And the third thing that happened—almost immediately as she started, Crowley stopped crying.

 _The times,_ she thought, _the proper times that would prove it if Azi were actually guilty …_

__

__

_The timestamp does not exist,_ Crowley thought manically.

**“The timestamp does not exist!”**

_“What?”_ Principal Tracy barely got out, but Crowley had already grabbed the microphone off its stand and dashed halfway across the stage with it.

“No,” Crowley growled, “I’m not leaving until I get to _‘apologize.’”_

Despite some slipping in the past year, as can be expected of anyone and obviously any teenager, Azi did have a moral code. Much of it was rooted in her religious upbringing, but that also served to provide a foundation upon which Azi sought to develop what worked best, and what was truly right and wrong out in the world. Azi had known that no matter what she said or did, she was going to receive punishment for the Burn Book; dragging anyone else down with her was not going to change that. So choosing to shoulder all the blame had been something like turning the other cheek for her.

Although it was not apparent to everybody, for a young person, Crowley had an extremely firm grip on her personal ethics and values.

They just didn’t look like Azi’s.

Crowley was smiling the sort of smile that makes students slip anonymous notes under the door to the guidance counselor that they are very concerned about so-and-so and could you please spend a little extra time with them at the metal detector tomorrow.

“Right. So—a lot of you wouldn’t know this,” Crowley hissed low, “but I used to be best friends with Michaela Archangel.” Students were murmuring, intrigued by where this was going. Principal Tracy was eyeing Crowley warily. She was ready to jump in if things got too out of hand, but she had apparently decided that Crowley should be allowed the chance to speak her piece just as Azi had. “Really!”

Michaela crossed her arms, rolling her eyes and sighing loudly.

“I was friends with all the Angels—Gabriela and Sandy? You know Gabriela and Sandy.” Crowley gave them a little wave with her fingers. Gabriela waved back, smiling stupidly. “So anyway, that’s how the Burn Book came about, because Michaela would come to my house and we would just laugh about all the dumb stuff people said.” Crowley paused. “So here I was a minute ago thinking, that the right thing to do would be just eat it, yeah? Claim full responsibility?” She flashed Michaela a saintly smile.

“But that’s not fair to Michaela, _and the kind of_ friend _she was to me._ Michaela _deserves_ to know how it feels to have such a heavy burden lifted off her shoulders, too! So _I’m sorry,_ Michaela,” Crowley said sweetly, peering down at the front row with a wide open expression. “I’m sorry that I almost took this moment from you. I’ll even apologize on your behalf, so you don’t have to come up here!”

 _“Prove it,”_ Michaela mouthed to Crowley, with a smirk.

“I know Michaela is sorry for the Burn Book,” Crowley earnestly addressed the auditorium now. “I know she’s sorry for all the lives she’s ruined. And I know Michaela is _SO SORRY_ right now, that she used Azi Raphael’s email—all of which is fully recoverable from emptied trash by our school’s computer nerd department, by the way—on a computer _in a_ fucking _library with cameras,_ that has tracking software, _that logs timestamped browser traffic for ninety days, **at a time when Azi was in class with me!”**_

“Oh, shit,” said someone in the crowd.

Michaela’s face fell.

Principal Tracy’s brow had been furrowing, mouth open, as she tried to keep up with Crowley’s technological rant. Distantly in the back of her mind she noted that Crowley had just dropped the F-bomb on the entire student body, but that was the least of her concerns right now.

 _She’s a genius,_ Azi was thinking, _she’s a goddamn evil genius, and I might just be in love with her._

Crowley’s hand fluttered to her chest, as she exhaled theatrically. “God! I am so sorry everyone,” she said. She looked dead into Michaela’s eyes. “Really, I don’t know why we did all that!” Crowley threw her arms up in an overwrought shrug. “I guess I must be some crazy _suicidal **Satan-worshiping dyke.**_ SUCK ON THAT.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Almost forgot!:** _[SUCK ON THAT!](https://youtu.be/T3zzGV9z3Rs)_
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	13. Sucking the Poison Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Crowley's speech in the auditorium, some loose ends need to be tied up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, there is one more chapter to go after this one! I wasn't sure yesterday if I was going to write one or two more, but I decided our girls need and deserve a separate epilogue all their own ...
> 
> Like a lot of my fics, this started almost as a joke (being that I'm obsessed with _Mean Girls,_ and figured no one else would ever do this), but then I got so attached to it, and especially attached to this world's versions of Crowley and Aziraphale.
> 
> This is one of the fluffiest things I ever wrote, obviously you noticed how short the chapters are (even for me) and what a bare bones version of the movie it is. I cut so many subplots and characters to get right into pining lesbians lol. And I enjoyed playing with inspirations instead of just rewriting the original story scene by scene. But yeah, I hope this is something that cheers people up and helps them turn their brains off. [I even wrote a drinking game to help you do that](https://the-lit-and-accurate-burn-book.tumblr.com/post/615583163852488704/how-to-get-drunk-while-reading-my-latest-au-so)! ;)
> 
> I really diverged from the plot of _Mean Girls_ with my ending, and I'm pretty happy with it. I hope you enjoy it, too!

**_Two weeks into Crowley and Michaela’s punishment …_ **

Michaela Archangel and Toni Crowley were learning by the end of their second week of in-school suspension together, that one can really only go on so long scowling at someone and not sharing a word when literally that meant settling for finding shapes in the cracks in beige bricks. The daily proctor, too, was over the boredom of sitting at a desk and watching two teenage girls not talk. He was sneaking out more and more to smoke and hit the vending machines, and he seemed to be disappearing for longer periods each time. Such was the case now, with Crowley and Michaela left all alone.

To colloquialize: Michaela and Crowley were past mean-mugging but not yet conversing.

Michaela coughed, and Crowley’s head snapped up, because that sound was enough to echo in the otherwise empty classroom.

Michaela sensed Crowley’s reaction, and when it seemed like neither of them knew what to do next, stuck in a tangible stillness, Michaela finally said, “I swear I’m not sick.” She sounded hoarse from not talking. “Allergies,” she added.

Crowley’s mouth didn’t seem to want to work right away. Then, with extreme awkwardness, she managed, “Yeah … pollen’s bad this year.”

 _THIS IS HELL,_ Crowley thought.

“Oh, fuck this,” said Michaela, sounding exasperated. She kicked out from the wall so that she was a few feet outside her cube. Crowley followed suit, just happy to be breaking a rule regardless of who initiated the action. Crowley immediately put her feet up on the desk in front of her, and fished her sunglasses out of her denim jacket pocket to slide on her face. She crossed her arms and gazed stiffly at Michaela, as though daring her to do anything else.

Michaela was watching Crowley out of the corner of her eye, but she did not turn to face her. “I wanted to ask you something,” she mumbled.

“Yeah?” Crowley arched an eyebrow.

“I was wondering …” Michaela trailed off. Several beats passed. “I wanted to know why it is that you didn’t throw Gabe and Sandy under the bus.”

Behind her dark glasses, Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “Hoping I would, were you?” she taunted. “Misery loves company and all that?”

“No!” Michaela said quickly. “They’ve definitely pissed me off lately, but no.” She stared straight ahead. “I just wanted to know _why._ You could have, right? I mean, you could have guessed that they check their personal emails at school. Everyone does. And then connected those to Tumblr.”

Crowley was silent and still for what seemed like a long time. Sometimes Michaela thought that Crowley would barely breathe on occasion. Then Crowley spoke: “Because I don’t get off on being a mean girl,” she said, much softer than Michaela anticipated. “It’s not like I was waiting for a way to fuck you over _this_ bad. That was just a plus,” she added, mouth quirking into a tight smile, and in spite of herself, Michaela huffed out an irritated laugh.

“If you weren’t doing it to get back at us, then what was the point?” Michaela asked.

Crowley looked surprised at the question. “She was,” she said slowly.

“That’s kinda what I thought,” Michaela said quietly. There was something like respect in her tone. She slunk back in toward her desk, leaving Crowley a little confused about what just happened.

And that was that. They were never going to be friends again, or exchange numbers, or anything like that—but maybe, for the remaining weeks of their shared punishment, a certain tension was gone from the air. And maybe, just maybe, that translated into a sort of reluctant truce moving forward.

We all grow up, eventually.

Similarly to what Crowley and Michaela had been enduring while suspended from class, Astor and Lige both felt they were veritably dying of boredom, albeit for different circumstances. In the case of Astor and Lige, there was no animosity preventing them from talking; they just didn’t interact because of shyness on Astor’s part.

 _What do ya even talk to straight people about?_ Astor wondered. _An’ he’s a jock._

Astor sat next to Lige at the library computers, and tried not to look like he was checking him out. Fuck, was he cute. Then, Astor chanced upon the insane-sounding notion to just strike up a conversation with Lige as as though he were a regular person.

“You know what?” Astor began. “S’probably gonna sound stupid, but I’m losing my mind with no one to talk shit to.”

Lige was shocked back to reality and out of the world of classic Oregon Trail, and it took a second for him to register what Astor said. Whatever—he knew he had been about to die of dysentery anyway. Lige hardly knew Astor, but he knew exactly what Astor was talking about; _Crowley & Astor_ as an entity was a well-documented phenomenon at Middle Ground. “Doesn’t sound stupid,” Lige said kindly. “Even though she makes me mad half the time, two weeks not talking to Michaela has been bad, too.”

Astor’s mouth twisted. He tried to stop it, but he had always had a very expressive face. “Why do you like her?” he risked asking.

“Why do you like Crowley?” Lige shot back. His vocal quality was permanently gruff, but to anyone paying attention (and oh, was Astor paying attention—especially to those _eyes)_ his tone was that of friendly banter, not defensive.

“S’not even the same,” Astor said, rolling his eyes. “Michaela is _mean.”_

“And Crowley’s _nice?”_ Lige pressed.

Astor had no right answer to that.

“So, s’cause you guys are gay and ‘not popular,’ you get a free pass to stir shit up?” Lige continued. There was still nothing accusatory in his tone, just honest to the point of vulnerability. “Look,” said Lige, “there’s good and bad to everybody. Right? Michaela’s just … She’s just more upfront about it.”

Astor pondered Lige’s attitude. On the one hand, Astor strongly suspected there was no way Lige knew how bad Michaela had ever been. On the other hand, Astor was uncovering how thoughtful Lige was, and how loyal. It occurred to Astor that he had never heard Lige make fun of someone, not once, not even as kids, and he felt an unexpected pang of protectiveness for how wholesome that felt.

Astor had to change the subject before he caught too many emotions. “Well, we’ll just have to entertain each other until our girls get back,” he joked. He immediately regretted it, feeling a chill run down his spine at how that might have sounded. _Fuck,_ he thought, _today is the day I get my ass pounded by the football team, and not in the good way._

Instead, Lige surprised him by saying, “Sure. Yeah.” He shrugged. “Was startin’ to think you’d never ask.”

“What do you mean?” asked Astor. “We’ve never even talked.”

“I got eyes,” Lige said simply.

Astor gaped. “Are you,” he squeaked, “are you, flirting with me?”

“Ah, shit,” said Lige, “you weren’t? I’m sorry, man.”

 _Nononono,_ Astor’s brain screamed at him, _you fix this right now, you idiot! Before you get to the part of the dream with the big avocado and wake up!_ He really needed to check out a dream encyclopedia to find out what that meant. “You’re gay??” he managed to choke out.

Lige shot Astor a look of wounded disappointment. “Unless you are using that word as a catchall for the queer spectrum then I gotta tell ya I didn’t guess you of all people to have internalized compulsory monosexuality to the point of biphobia,” Lige said sadly. “Well”—he made a face like a puppy trying to solve a geometry problem—“I guess pan if you wanna get technical outta respect to the gender binary being a social construct. And stuff.”

Astor’s jaw dropped. “Wha, how,” he babbled, nearly falling out of his chair, _“when?!”_

“Hmm,” Lige wondered. “I guess prob’ly always, but, really realized it with the team. Jus’, you know, kinda figured if I was straight then I wouldn’t be so good at sucking dick.”

Astor heard a high-pitched whine—what was that, coming from the vents or something?—then stopped when he realized it was him.

“Lige,” he said breathlessly, “did you wanna hang out tonight?”

**_Two weeks prior to all that …_ **

Principal Tracy ushered Crowley, Michaela, and Azi toward her office as the teachers who were in the auditorium had students file out a few rows at a time to return to class. Azi kept trying to walk alongside Crowley and say something to her, but the hallway was a jungle. Her heart jumped for joy when she found Crowley’s gaze long enough for Crowley to return an impossibly soft smile, and then Azi knew, everything was going to be okay.

“Take a seat in the hall, ladies,” Principal Tracy instructed Michaela and Azi. “Miss Crowley and I need to have a talk about her theatrics today.”

Crowley stormed the office furiously, seriously thinking about kicking the chair in front of Principal Tracy’s desk across the room. “Well?” Crowley snapped. “Let’s get it over with then. I know how this works, perfect _‘Angel’_ Michaela’s gonna get ISS at worst, and I’m getting expelled, or recommended for another stupid partial hospitalization program because _the poor crazy girl …”_ Crowley stopped talking when she saw that Principal Tracy was sitting calmly, hands clasped on top of her desk as she let Crowley get it all out. Crowley dropped into a seat with a thud and sprawled, deflating.

“Miss Crowley,” Ms. Tracy said gently. “I don’t think you’re crazy.” She gave her an affectionate smile. Ms. Tracy had a soft spot for “bad kids”—who were really always just kids, who had been told they were bad. “But I wanted to tell you something in private.” She paused. “I know that having a girlfriend may seem like the most important thing in the world right now. But you don’t always have to fall on the fire to get girls to like you.

“I know you had nothing to do with that website,” she finished.

“How would you know?” Crowley mumbled bitterly.

“Because I know you,” said Ms. Tracy. “And furthermore, faked or no … even you don’t hate yourself enough to write some of the things I saw said about you on that site.”

The tears that Crowley had successfully wrestled under when she stood onstage came back more terrible than before. Ms. Tracy pretended to be looking at her computer screen, and when she thought Crowley had settled down enough that she could bear to be seen again, Ms. Tracy sat up and handed her a tissue.

“Can I have my sunglasses, please?” Crowley whimpered. Ms. Tracy handed them over without question, and Crowley quickly donned them. The “please” had stunned her, and Ms. Tracy found herself thinking, _The ones that look the hardest, are the ones that remind you they’re still babies._

“Better?” Ms. Tracy asked.

Crowley nodded, a tough sneer coming back to her.

“All right then, let’s talk,” said Ms. Tracy. She leaned in over her desk. “All three of you are receiving detention for forty minutes a day until our IT department works this out. It shouldn’t take long,” she smiled, “because a very intelligent young woman I know has already done half the work for them.”

Crowley snorted irritably.

“If anyone is found guilty in their investigation, that student will complete four weeks’ ISS, and those previous days of detention will not count towards the hours.” Ms. Tracy smirked. “But I have a strong hunch that only one of you will be proven involved—isn’t that right?”

Crowley kicked her legs out, sinking comfortably. “I want the same punishment as Michaela,” she said shortly.

“I’m sorry, what?” Ms. Tracy prompted.

“I just confessed the whole thing in front of everybody,” Crowley pointed out.

“Right, and you clearly made it up to help out a specific young lady,” said Ms. Tracy.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Crowley. “I’m not about to look like I struck some deal with you.”

“‘Snitches get stitches,’ Miss Crowley?” Ms. Tracy asked wryly.

Crowley shrugged. “I’m always gonna do what feels right to me,” she said, “even if questioning what seems right to everyone else always gets me into trouble.”

**_Present day._ **

“Thanks for not mentioning us to the principal,” Gabriela said quietly at lunch.

“Whatever,” Michaela grumbled over her salad, “don’t get all corny on me, you skanks.”

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing,” said Sandy, ignoring her, “having to delete it. Now it’s not hanging over us, like when is someone gonna figure it out?”

Michaela made a noncommittal face. She was thinking of Crowley, taking the fall for someone she had a crush on _(she_ loves _her,_ some buried part of Michaela’s mind insisted), and then further choosing to bite the bullet without drawing in everyone who had hurt her. The girl was no Angel, but she absolutely was … something. She had a lot of lofty optimism in her for someone who had spent so much time at rock bottom.

Michaela wondered, if the events of the Burn Book unraveling had gone differently _(admit it,_ she thought at herself, _what you_ really _mean is, if Crowley hadn’t been involved—if her influence hadn’t been there),_ would she have vindictively put her friends on blast?

But they didn’t need to know what she was thinking, and they definitely didn’t need to know how Crowley had managed things.

“It’s gotten boring anyway,” Michaela said uneasily. “Being in everyone’s business all the time. It’s not worth it.”

Sandy frowned. “I guess so,” she said, “but then what are we gonna do for fun?”

No one spoke for a minute.

Eventually, Gabriela had an idea, which she was all too proud to share: “I can put my whole fist in my mouth! Wanna see?”

_There’s just one more thing …_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	14. Right Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You already know how this ends.

**_The night after the auditorium …_ **

Astor rolled over in bed when he felt his phone vibrate next to his head. It was always Crowley this late, and he always answered. It’s not like she was waking him up anyway; they were both insomniacs, and Astor alternated between staring at the ceiling and lurking for the rest of the night around the house. He answered a few of her texts before becoming agitated with her replies and deciding to just call.

Astor went into the kitchen and set his phone on the table on speaker while he made himself a post-midnight peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Why are you calling me?” Crowley demanded when she answered.

“You texted me,” Astor snarked back (quietly, of course—he wasn’t trying to wake his mom).

“Right,” said Crowley. “I _texted_ you. You _called_ me.”

 _“Right,”_ Astor mocked, “what are these _[stupid](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1mlUyvBrdnz0omff7jsEyZs2oOgp089Zn/view?usp=sharing)_ texts? What are you going on about?”

Crowley’s veneer of hardness completely fell away in her voice. “I’m losing my mind,” she said, as if that explained anything.

Astor ruffled up his pale hair, flat in the back from his pillow. “Yeah, no shit,” he said mildly. “You lost it when you stood up at the assembly.”

“Are you talking to me with your mouth full again?” Crowley snapped, offended.

Astor swallowed the bite of his sandwich. “Nope,” he said. “Crowley, are you really this twisted up over wanting to tell Azi how you feel? Because I gotta tell ya,” he paused to rub some of the tiredness from his eyes, _“I’m pretty sure she’s fucken noticed.”_

“Yeah, well,” said Crowley, and Astor could hear her sneering, “I really would have thought that, like, _literally six thousand years_ ago, wouldn’t you?”

“You really left no doubt today,” Astor pointed out. “What’d she say after school?”

Crowley sounded guilty. “I, uh.”

Astor had just picked up the uneaten portion of the top slice of bread off his sandwich and was about to add a layer of Oreos, but he stopped short at Crowley’s hesitation. He may or may not have been stoned. “You didn’t talk to her after that?!” Then he narrowed his eyes. _“She_ didn’t come talk to you?”

“I, uh,” said Crowley again, “I didn’t give her the chance. I bolted.”

“What the hell, Crowley!”

 _“I didn’t know what to say!”_ Crowley said, sounding tortured.

Astor sighed, then crunched down on what he was sure had to be the world’s greatest sandwich right now. “What do you think you need to say, Crowley?” Astor asked. “Do you think you haven’t done enough for her already?” He paused. “Do you think the painting wasn’t enough? Do you think saving her ass from suspension today wasn’t enough?”

“I want it to be right,” Crowley said weakly.

“What,” said Astor, “the _‘moment’?_ What kind of moment do you think you’re gonna get, Crowley? Do you think, do you think she’s gonna wait in the middle of the baseball field, for you to come kiss her while the clock counts down?” Astor was waving his arms wildly in the middle of his kitchen, sending Oreo crumbs flying through the air. “Look, Crowley, I don’t know shit about love—I’ve never even got to _meet_ another guy who likes guys who ain’t my _uncle_ —but I’m pretty sure about one thing and that’s this: the only _‘moments’_ you get in life are _right now.”_

Crowley was quiet. “You’re right,” she said then. “You’re fucking A-right. When you’re right, you’re right. I’m out.”

“Wha—” Astor spun and looked at the time on the microwave. It was 2 in the morning. “You dumb dramatic bitch, **I didn’t mean _now_ now—”**

But Crowley had already hung up.

Azi Raphael could not sleep. She felt as though electricity were crackling under her skin, and she was continuously playing on loop scenes from school that day in her mind’s eye. She thought about Crowley, in every possible way: Crowley, in the back of the auditorium, her eyes seeing into Azi’s soul even with sunglasses. Crowley, taking the fall for Azi, and being so brilliantly clever with her arguments. And in more general terms: Crowley’s fire hair, her nebula eyes, her sauntering movements. And she analyzed to heaven and back the way Crowley had smiled at her in the hall, infinitely forgiving, before Principal Tracy had swept her away.

Azi sat in her open bedroom window, legs tucked under her on the blush pink chaise longue there and framed by white sheer curtains. When the moon was full like this, there was so much light that—despite being the middle of the night—the leaves of the apple tree in front of the porch beneath her cast dappled shadows on the pool in her yard. Azi observed the view and smiled wistfully. She couldn’t help herself, it was too perfect; she reached across to a bookshelf and grabbed a well-loved leather-bound Complete Works of Shakespeare.

Meanwhile, Crowley was ready to tear her hair out looking for a place to park. What was up with this neighborhood—was everybody home, was this some hellish alternate universe quarantined dystopia? There wasn’t a spare foot of spot open on Azi’s block. Crowley whipped her Jeep into on-street parking a couple blocks from Azi’s house, dropped out of the driver’s seat, and slammed the door behind her as she started to sprint.

Azi found Act 2 Scene 2 of _Romeo and Juliet._ She lovingly traced the individual lines on the heavy pages with her fingertips, moving her lips as she read the scene to herself. God only knew how many times she’d read it before, surely she had it memorized, but she liked the book’s sturdy feel in her delicate hands as she leaned over the windowsill.

Crowley was wondering how she looked exactly, dressed all in black and racing through suburbanites’ lawns. The last thing she needed was for some Carole Baskin-looking soccer mom to call the cops. She was still holding a little weed for Astor.

Although Azi knew the door to her bedroom was closed, she shyly glanced back behind her shoulder to be sure. Not that it would faze Azi’s mom for a second to find her reading Shakespeare out loud, but Azi would still die of embarrassment if _anyone_ caught her.

Crowley smacked some soil off of her face and hissed as her calves were shredded by branches. Crowley had just learned that she could not, in fact, jump over a hedge, despite what the action movies had told her.

 _“O Romeo, Romeo!,”_ Azi read softly. _“Wherefore are thou Romeo?”_ She read louder, emboldened by the private sanctuary of her room. Crowley was scrabbling up Azi’s apple tree now, careful not to slip on the yellow-white fairy lights tied around it. _“Deny thy father and refuse thy name—”_

__

__

_A little on the nose, don’t you think?_ Crowley thought at God, or Somebody.

_“—Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love—”_

Crowley threw her body onto the porch roof outside Azi’s window. She wondered if the drama of flying over to Azi’s house as fast as she could had made her delirious. _Am I imagining this, or is this seriously a thing that she does?_ she wondered, amused and impossibly charmed.

 _“—And I’ll no longer be a Capulet,”_ Azi sighed.

Crowley tried to think of a romantic reply. _“Age does not wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety,”_ she declared, proud of having remembered something from college prep.

“That’s _Antony and Cleopatra,_ not _Romeo and Juliet,”_ Azi snapped— ** _“AHHH!!”_** The fact that not only had someone been listening to her _but was standing outside her window_ hit her like a big yellow school bus, and Azi fell off the chaise and kicked back in terror toward her bed. In sheer fight-or-flight physical response, Azi chucked the Complete Works at Crowley’s face, which narrowly missed her but sailed out the bedroom window. Crowley felt like she could only watch in slow-motion as the tome skidded down the porch roof.

“Ahh, fuck,” mumbled Crowley, seeing the inevitable trajectory of the book to the pool.

“Crowley?!” Azi realized.

Crowley dove.

“Oh, _good Lord,”_ Azi said. She sounded dizzy.

 _Astor was right,_ Crowley thought wearily, _I am a dumb dramatic bitch._ Quick as a flash, she found herself climbing out of Azi’s pool, looking like a drowned rat, freezing and clutching the Complete Works of William Shakespeare and picturing a world where she had thought to calmly climb back down to earth and fished the book out of the water—which she was now about ninety-percent sure would have resulted in the work being no more worse for wear than which it was now. Crowley set the book down carefully, figuring she was in no way helping matters by gripping it to her waterlogged frame, when a warm bundle of curves crashed into her. Azi had run downstairs and out to her.

“I am soaked—” Crowley started to warn her, pointless already.

“I don’t care,” Azi gasped.

Crowley turned into her arms, melting gracelessly against her and holding on like nothing else would save her from drowning. “Your book …” Crowley started, wincing at the sight of it.

“Mmhm,” Azi whimpered into Crowley’s neck. “You did that for me,” she murmured. “You do everything for me—you’re a miracle, Crowley.”

Crowley nuzzled Azi’s hair, thinking she might faint from being this close to her at last. “S’nothing, angel,” she whispered. They stood like that for a bit, paying no mind to the cold air, before Crowley held Azi away from her to get a better look at what she suspected as it started to dawn on her what Azi was wearing. _“Angel,”_ she said, with a huge grin.

Azi wore a white and gold peignoir set, near translucent by this point from how drenched Crowley had gotten her. Azi turned bright red and shook out the gown away from her body. “I was ready for bed,” she protested.

Crowley laughed, louder than she expected in the still night. “Dressed like that?!” Crowley wouldn’t have been surprised if the lacy number had been from the 1940s, or older.

Azi sniffed. “I have standards,” she said.

The lights came on downstairs in Azi’s house. _“Azi?”_ came a voice from inside.

“That’s my mom …” said Azi.

Crowley nodded. “I understand, angel,” she said gently. She scooped the book off the ground. “Tomorrow,” she promised, pressing the book into Azi’s hands.

Azi grasped the book, looking nervously back at the house, then at Crowley, then to the book. She appeared to be making a decision. Azi shifted the book under one arm to hold it against her side, so that both her hands were free to reach up for one side of her face. She pressed something into Crowley’s hands in turn. “Tomorrow,” she assured her.

She ran inside, leaving Crowley to stare down at the single diamond stud in her palm.

_You already know how this ends._

All these high school stories are the same, aren’t they?

Weeks after the pool incident at Azi’s house, Crowley and Azi sit on the grass in front of Middle Ground High School. It is a gorgeous day, perfect for taking a break outside. In addition to Crowley’s usual array of cheap clunky silver-colored jewelry and black chokers is a single round cut diamond in her left ear, somehow simultaneously incongruous and correct. Between swallows of a pair of bake sale cupcakes, Azi talks animatedly about her English class, typically as ever excited over homework. Crowley says little, but her smile as she watches every word drip from Azi’s lips says it all.

Across from them are Astor and Lige, with their girls but at once in their own world. Lige wraps an arm around Astor’s shoulders, pulling him in for a quick public kiss. Just then, three beautiful Angels walk on the grass in front of the pavement behind the two couples, and Michaela can’t stop herself from smiling affectionately at Lige’s back.

They don’t really hang out anymore. Witnessing how tenderly Crowley treats Azi fanned something like guilt in Michaela, and she confessed a lot of her youthful mistakes to Lige. She was surprised at how good it felt to do that. Lige cares about her, but it should go without saying that they’ve grown apart. Yet, despite barely speaking, it feels to Lige some days like they are genuinely closer than ever.

Crowley had things to tell Azi privately, too. And when Azi cried with self-sabotaging anger, savagely berating herself for not noticing that Crowley never removes her jacket in public, Crowley held her on the mattress in her shed, and rocked her, seemingly for hours, and when they stopped sobbing long enough to tell each other “I love you”—Azi felt known for the first time in her life, and for the first time, Crowley felt safe.

When Michaela gives Azi a lazy wave without stopping, Crowley drops her chin on top of Azi’s head and tugs her closer, and there is a possessiveness there but it’s not jealousy exactly. It’s her nature to protect to the point of … keeping? But she means no harm, and Azi knows how to check it when need be. Other than this reactionary body language, Michaela and Crowley do not ever acknowledge each other.

They are only human, and so naïve. It would be cruel to expect miracles from them.

Azi pauses, happening to catch her reflection in Crowley’s sunglasses, a symbol of how closely Crowley pays attention to her, and she leaves a light lingering kiss on the curve of Crowley’s mouth. She nudges against her nose, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of Crowley on her face, the heat of the sun on her back.

Azi had gone from homeschooled hippie freak, to holier-than-thou Angel, to most hated person in the world, to actual human being. But all the drama from last year just isn’t important anymore. Her world is at peace.

All these high school stories are the same—but we love them anyway, because they’re pure, and they’re hopeful, and generally speaking nothing close to them ever happened for most of us but maybe, just maybe, for some young person somewhere it could …

And maybe that makes some of the things that do happen okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [exhale your failures (you’ll see them in the morning)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992877) by [AceMoppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet)




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